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Page  o4 


HI,    LITTLE    BROTHER,    HOW    SLEEK   YOU    LOOK!" 


TORIES  TO  TELL 
flTHE  LITTLEST  ONES 

&tj  Sara  Cone  Ito/ant 


(Mrs. Theodore  F.Borsf) 


Jllustrations 
fcy  Willy  Pogany 


Houqhfon  Mifflin  Company 


COPYRIGHT,   1916,   BY  SARA  CONE   BORST 
ALL    RIGHTS    RESERVED 

Published  November  iqib 


J 

372. e 


Library,  Univ.  of 
North  Carolina 

TO 

T.  F.  B. 
OUR   BEST    PLAYMATE 

THIS    LITTLE    BOOK    IS    DEDICATED 

BY    THE    LITTLEST    ONES 

AND    ME 


S^ 

^ 


Acknowledgments 

For  the  Swabian  verses  I  have  to  thank  my 
husband,  who  heard  the  originals  in  childhood 
from  his  grandfather.  The  first  telling  of  "The 
Little  White  Boat "  and  the  inspiration  for  a  num- 
ber of  other  stories  came  from  the  same  interested 
source. 

The  spirit  and  outline  of  the  two  apple  stories 
I  owe  to  Mr.  James  H.  Bowditch,  the  noted  land- 
scape architect.  While  I  was  very  ill  he  told  the 
little  adventures  to  my  husband,  to  tell  to  me,  for 
the  whiling  away  of  a  heavy  time;  and  I  have 
made  them  into  stories  with  his  consent.  I  regret 
that  I  cannot  fully  transmit  in  them  the  rare  savor 
of  gentle  humor  and  kindly  philosophy  that  Mr. 
Bowditch's  personality  infused  into  the  original. 

The  Scotch  rhymes  with  their  music  were 
taught  my  children  by  Miss  Jessie  Blaine,  their 
kindest  of  nurses,  and  a  shining  example  of  the 
national  strength  and  wholesomeness  of  character. 
She  learned  the  funny  bits  literally  at  her  mother's 
knee,  and  in  passing  them  on  to  my  children,  used 
the  quaint  steps  and  gestures  which  had  come  to 
hers  from  a  still  earlier  mother.  The  rhymes  are 
undoubtedly  only  fragments,  but  even  as  such 
seem  to  have  a  perennial  charm  for  the  "  littlest 


ones." 


vn 


Foreword 

This  little  book  is  the  outgrowth  of  a  cus- 
tom in  my  house,  known  to  the  children 
as  "  Telling  the  Rabbit  Story." 

Ever  since  my  little  girl  and  boy  were 
born,  I  have  been  in  the  habit  of  singing 
them  rhymes  or  telling  them  stories  every 
day,  a  while  before  sleepy-time.  One  of  the 
earliest  connected  stories  they  ever  heard  was 
Beatrix  Potter's  exquisite  little  tale,  "  Peter 
Rabbit."  They  were  very  fond  of  this,  and 
were  much  attracted  by  the  name  and  the 
pictures  of  Peter  himself.  So  it  happened  that 
they  asked  for  more  adventures  of  Peter 
Rabbit,  and  I  fell  into  the  way  of  introduc- 
ing the  little  hero  into  many  of  my  inven- 
tions, until  at  last  no  story  was  complete 
if  it  did  not  begin :  "  Once  when  Peter  Rab- 
bit was  —  " 

For  two  years  the  story  hour  at  my 
house    was    always    called    the   "  Rabbit 

ix 


FOREWORD 

story."  "Mother,  will  you  be  home  for  the 
'  Rabbit  story '  ?  "  the  children  used  to  say, 
when  I  went  out. 

Gradually  other  loves  have  taken  their 
place  in  the  home-story  world,  and  I  have 
told  my  boy  and  girl  many  tales  of  many 
kinds,  true,  fairy,  and  "foolish,"  as  they 
call  humorous  stories,  but  they  still  love  the 
one  that  begins  with  "  Peter  Rabbit." 

Once  in  a  while,  in  the  long  series  of 
days,  some  happy  inspiration  has  given  me 
a  better  thought  than  usual,  and  a  real  story 
has  popped  out  of  my  mouth  in  place  of 
the  mediocre  inventions  of  habit.  These 
few  real  stories  have  been  retold  "  by 
request"  of  the  original  audience,  and  told 
again  to  larger  audiences  many  times. 
It  has  seemed  to  me  that  the  best  of 
them  might  prove  of  value  to  other  teach- 
ers and  mothers  of  very  little  children,  for 
the  demand  is  continuous,  and  the  sup- 
ply of  material  suitable  for  such  tiny  hearers 
is  exceedingly  small. 

x 


FOREWORD 

A  few  of  these  stones  are  my  own  adap- 
tations from  old  or  foreign  tales,  as  the 
reader  will  note  in  the  following  pages.  But 
the  larger  number  are  entirely  original,  and 
grew  spontaneously  out  of  the  mood  of  the 
hour. 

I  do  not  claim  any  wonderful  qualities 
for  the  little  stories  so  made  and  gathered. 
Very  young  children  have  liked  them,  and 
I  have  been  willing  that  my  own  very 
young  children  should  hear  them.  The  lat- 
ter is  an  acid  test  which  has  counted  out 
many  a  famous  old  story,  and  the  former 
disposes  of  all  too  many  modern  ones.  So 
I  hope  that  these  may  prove  useful  to 
grown-up  friends  and  joyous  to  little  boys 
and  girls. 


Contents 

The  Littlest  One  of  All 3 

The  Dog  and  the  Kitty  Cats  5 
An  Old  Five- Finger  Saying  (Adapted  from  the  Swabian)    8 

The  Goosey  Gander 9 

An  Old  Five-Finger  Saying 12 

The  Little  Bull  Calf 13 

An  Old  Patting  Play 20 

The  Velocipede  that  went  by  Itself      ...  22 

Three  Jingles 28 

Who  discovered  the  Maple  Sugar  ?  .    .       .       .30 

Two  Little  Kittens 40 

When  Peter  Rabbit  had  the  Earache         .       .  42 

Measuring  Song 48 

The  Ambitious  Apple 51 

Rosey  Posey 55 

The  Old  Apple  Tree 57 

Wha  lairn't  you  to  dance  ? 63 

The  Foolish  Chauffeur 65 

Was  ye  at  the  Fair  ? 74 

Little  Betty  Baker  (A  Nonsense  Story)      .       .  75 

[  xiii  ] 


CONTENTS 

We'll  all  awa'  to  Jessie's  Hoose     ....     85 
Happy  Easter       ........     87 

Tired  Child 92 

The  Wandering  Child        ......     94 

Morning  Prayer  of  Thanks      ......     98 

The  Resurrection  Plant 100 

The  Wassail  Song   {Old  Christmas  Carol)    .       .104 
The  Christmas  Tree  that  lived      .       .       .       .107 

Pretty  Cow 117 

The  Adventure  of  the  Little  White  Boat   .       .118 

The  Tree 126 

The  Little  Dreamer 128 

The  Whimper- Whinies 130 

Sun's  Greeting 140 

Peter's  Visit  to  Mother  Sun's  House    .       .       .   142 

The  Wind  at  Work 149 

Wind  Song 151 

Peter's  Visit  to  Mother  Wind's  House        .       .153 
When  Christ  was  born  of  Mary  Free  {Old  Christ- 
mas Carol) 164 

The  Noah's  Ark 166 


it  T  » 


Full-Page  Illustrations 

"Hi,  Little  Brother,  how  sleek  you  look!" 

Colored  Frontispiece 

It  only  shook  its  little  handle  bars  and  rang 
its  little  bell 24 

Silently  and  mysteriously  he  set  it  down  be- 
fore Grandmother 38 

I'm  going  to  the  little  flannel  bush  in  the 
hollow"  {colored) 42 

She  knocked  at  the  door 46 

The  child  ran  after  it  {colored)     ....     96 

Oh,  what  was  happening  to  the  little  plant?  .   102 

Oh,  just  crying  a  pond,"  said  the  Whimper- 
Whiny  {colored) 136 

A  tiny  sunbeam  girlie  ran  up  to  him  {colored)   142 

The  Sunbeam  Child  and  the  Little  Birds        .   146 

Mother  Wind  was  playing  with  the  littlest 
wind-child  {colored) 154 

Away  they  danced,  whirling  and  swaying  and 
darting 162 


r 


Stories  to  Tell 
The  Littlest  Ones 


7/io   arr/e^r  one  or  all 


Once  there  was  a  tiny  girl  baby.  She 
was  so  small  that  her  father  could  carry 
her  in  one  hand,  her  soft  little  head  resting 
on  his  arm,  and  her  fairy-like  feet  curled  up 
on  his  fingers.  The  tiny  baby's  eyes  were 
black  and  shiny,  and  very,  very  big. 

Sometimes  she  cried,  and  then  her  father 
used  to  carry  her  about  the  room,  swinging 
her  gently  in  his  arms  and  singing  to  her 
this  odd  little  song :  — 

"  Eeny,  weeny,  bottle  o'  milk, 
Eeny,  weeny,  fine  as  silk ! 
Her  hannies  are  tiny, 
Her  footies  are  wee, 
But  her  EYES  are  big  as  big  can  be!" 

3 


STORIES   TO   TELL 

When  the  tiny  baby  girl  grew  bigger  she 
had  a  big  doll,  and  she  liked  to  carry  it 
about  and  play  it  was  a  baby.  So  her  father 
taught  her  the  odd  little  song,  and  the  little 
girl  sang  it  to  her  baby  doll.  Here  she  is  in 
the  picture,  singing  :  — 

"Eeny,  weeny,  bottle  o'  milk, 
Eeny,  weeny,  fine  as  silk  ! 
Her  hannies  are  tiny, 
Her  footies  are  wee, 
But  her  EYES  are  big  as  big  can  be ! " 


The  Dog  and  the  Mlg  Cab 

Once  there  was  a  big  gray  mother  cat 
who  had  a  little  gray"  kitten.  And  the 
mother  cat  lay  down  on  the  sunny  porch 
and  said,  "  Miaouw,  come  here ;  miaouw, 
come  here !  " 

And  the  little  gray  kitten  cuddled  up 
close  to  her  mother's  warm,  soft  fur,  and 
said,  "  Pur-r-r,  pur-r-r !  " 

Just  then  along  came  the  big  black  dog 
from  next  door,  and  said,  "  Bow-wow ! 
Bow-wow !  "  And  he  frightened  the  two 
kitty  cats  so  that  they  ran  as  fast  as  they 
could,  away  from  there. 

At  last  the  mother  cat  found  a  cozy  cor- 
ner 'way  out  behind  the  barn,  and  she  lay 
down  again,  quite  out  of  breath,  and  said, 

5 


STORIES   TO   TELL 

11  Miaouw,  come  here ;  miaouw,  come 
here ! " 

So  the  little  gray  kitty  cuddled  down  as 
close  as  she  could  to  her  mother's  soft 
warm  fur,  and  she  said,  "  Pur-r-r,  pur-r-r ! ' 

But  just  as  they  had  settled  themselves 
for  a  nice  comfortable  time,  round  the  cor- 
ner came  the  big  black  dog  again,  and  said, 
"  Bow-wow !    Bow-wow  !  " 

Oh,  how  they  jumped !  They  ran,  ran, 
ran,  as  fast  as  they  could,  till  they  were 
out  of  sight ;  and  they  never  stopped  run- 
ning till  they  found  a  place  far  down  in  the 
orchard,  under  the  old  apple  tree,  where 
they  thought  the  big  dog  would  n't  find 
them. 

Then  the  mother  cat  lay  down  again 
quite  tired  out,  and  said,  "  Miaouw,  come 
here  ;  miaouw,  come  here  !  " 

And  the  little  gray  kitty  crept  as  close 
as  she  possibly  could,  and  cuddled  wearily 
against  the  mother  cat's  soft,  warm  fur,  and 
said,  faintly,  "  Pur-r-r,  pur-r-r!" 


THE   LITTLEST   ONES 

But  no  sooner  were  they  settled  than  up 
came  that  miserable  black  dog  again,  and 
said,  "Bow-wow!  Bow- wow- wow!!" 

And  that  mother  cat  just  stood  up,  and 
she  arched  her  back,  and  she  stiffened  her 
tail,  and  she  made  a  terrible  face  to  the 
dog,  and  said,  "S-s-s-s-s! ! "  And  what 
do  you  think?  The  old  black  dog  was  so 
frightened  that  he  just  put  his  tail  between 
his  legs  and  slunk  off,  as  fast  as  he  could ! 
Because  he  knew  very  well  that  the  mother 
cat  would  scratch  his  face  when  she  looked 
like  that. 

And  then  the  mother  cat  lay  down  com- 
fortably, and  said,  "  Miaouw,  come  here; 
miaou w,  come  here !  " 

And  the  little  gray  kitty  cuddled  down 
close  and  warm  and  happy  in  her  soft, 
warm  coat,  and  said,  "Pur-r-r!  Pur-r-r!" 


fin  Old  Fiue-Finger  Saying 

fldajikd  from  the  Swahian 


Here  's  a  round  silver  dollar ! 

We  '11  go  to  the  market, 

And  buy  a  fat  sheep, 

A  pony  to  ride, 

And  a  bossy  to  keep, 

And  a  wee,  wee,  wee  little  piggy,  beside  ! 

First  draw  an  imaginary  circle  in  the  baby's 
tiny  open  palm,  then  touch  the  five  little  fingers 
in  turn,  beginning  with  the  thumb,  just  as  we  do 
in  the  familiar  "This  little  pig  went  to  market." 
Quite  little  babies  like  this  very  much. 


8 


THE  GOOSEY  GANDER 

Elizabeth  and  James  came  to  the 
grown-up  table  on  Christmas,  and  ate  roast 
goose.  Between  the  courses,  because  it  was 
hard  for  such  little  people  to  wait  quietly, 
mother  told  them  the  story  of  the  Goosey- 
Gander  Who  Would  n't  Do  as  He  was 
Told. 

Once  there  was  a  young  Goosey-Gander 
who  thought  himself  very  smart.  He  never 
would  stay  in  the  yard  where  all  the  other 
ducks  and  geese  were,  but  went  wandering 
along  the  grass  by  the  roadside,  and  even 
in  the  road.  The  old  geese  said  to  him, 
"You  will  get  hurt  if  you  go  there  "  ;  but 
he  only  said,  "  Quack !  Quack !  I  know 
better." 


STORIES   TO   TELL 

And  they  said,  "  Look  out  for  yourself 
when  you  hear  a  big  noise  "  ;  but  he  only 
said,  "Quack!  Quack!  I  can  look  out  for 
myself  without  your  help." 

So  they  stopped  talking  to  him. 

One  day  he  was  picking  round  in  the 
grass  very  close  to  the  white  road,  when  he 
suddenly  heard  a  loud  "  Honk!  Honk!" 
"Pooh,"  said  the  Goosey-Gander,  "what 
goose  are  you?  I  can  make  one  as  loud  as 
that.  Honk!  Honk!" 

And  he  did  n't  get  out  of  the  way. 

The  next  instant  a  glaring  red  automo- 
bile came  rushing  along  the  white  road,  with 
a  "Honk!  Honk!"  as  loud  as  thunder.  It 
passed  the  Goosey- Gander  with  a  roar  and 
a  rush,  and  such  a  swirl  of  wind  and  dust 
came  with  it  that  it  swept  him  up  in  the  air 
against  the  hedge.  He  was  like  to  die  with 
fright !  He  flew  and  scrambled  and  tumbled 
over  the  hedge  into  the  yard,  screaming, 
"Honk!  Honk!  Quack!  Quack!  Honk! 
Honk!" 


10 


THE   LITTLEST   ONES 

And  do  you  know,  he  was  so  frightened 
at  automobiles  after  that,  that  the  faintest 
sound  of  a  horn  would  set  him  running. 
The  other  geese  used  to  tease  him  by 
coming  up  close  behind  him,  and  saying, 
"Honk!  Honk!  "  Every  time  they  did  it 
the  little  Goosey-Gander  would  fly  straight 
up  in  the  air,  with  a  fuss  and  a  flurry, 
and  he  would  say,  "Quack!  Quack!  Oh! 
Honk!" 

And  he  never  played  in  the  road  after 
that. 


An  old  Rve-firgerSaying 


The  big  pig  said,  "  I  want  some  corn !  " 
The  next  pig  said,  "Where  are  you  going 
to  get  it?" 

The  third  pig  said,  "  In  Gran'pa's  barn." 
The  fourth  pig  said,  "  Ah !  I  '11  tell  I  " 
And  the  last  little  pig  said,  "Wee,  wee, 
wee,  wee!   You  can't  get  over  the  barn- 
door sill ! " 

Touch  the  little  fingers  in  turn,  beginning 
with  the  thumb,  as  in  "This  little  pig  went  to 
market." 


12 


The  little  Bull  Calf 


Once  upon  a  time  there  was  a  Little  Bull 
Calf.  His  mother  was  the  Cow  that  Jumped 
Over  the  Moon  and  his  father  was  the  Bull 
in  the  China  Shop  —  both  quite  famous 
persons. 

The  Little  Bull  Calf  had  inherited  the 
characteristics  of  both  parents.  That  means, 

13 


STORIES   TO   TELL 

he  was  a  little  like  his  mother  and  a  little 
like  his  father.  And  that  means,  he  liked 
to  jump  high  and  run  fast;  and  he  never 
would  look  where  he  was  going! 

Such  a  lot  of  trouble  he  got  into  on  that 
account!  Every  one  was  always  telling  him, 
"  Look  where  you  're  going  " ;  but  he  usually 
did  not  look  until  he  had  gone;  by  that  time 
it  was  too  late. 

One  day  he  ran  and  jumped  into  the 
garden  and  spoiled  the  early  lettuce.  The 
Farmer  was  so  angry  that  he  nearly  sold 
the  Little  Bull  Calf  to  the  Butcher.  The 
Little  Bull  Calf  was  dreadfully  sorry,  for 
he  did  n't  at  all  mean  to  spoil  the  garden. 
His  mother  said,  "Why  didn't  you  look 
where  you  were  going?"  But  he  could  n't 
remember. 

And  one  day  he  ran  and  jumped  into  the 
wire  fence  and  hurt  himself  badly.  His 
father  scolded  him  and  said  he  hoped 
the  bump  would  teach  him  to  look  where 
he  was  going.    But  he  could  n't  remember. 

14 


THE   LITTLEST   ONES 

And  finally  this  is  what  happened  to 
him. 

•  Early  in  the  shiny  morning  he  was  stand- 
ing in  the  pasture,  and  his  mother  was  far 
at  the  other  end,  watching  the  house,  which 
she  could  clearly  see.  The  sweet  fresh  air 
made  the  little  Bull  Calf  feel  so  good  that  he 
began  to  run  and  jump. 

Of  course  he  did  n't  look  where  he  was 
going,  and  presently  he  jumped  right  into 
the  fence,  as  he  had  done  once  before.  But 
this  time  he  struck  a  spot  where  the  fence 
was  weak,  and  it  gave  way,  and  let  him 
through  into  the  big  field  of  the  world. 

The  Little  Bull  Calf  ran  and  jumped,  and 
ran  and  jumped,  until  he  was  far,  far  away, 
in  a  place  he  had  never  seen  before.  By  and 
by  he  came  to  the  top  of  a  hill.  Now  at  the 
foot  of  that  hill  was  a  Quaky  Bog.  A  Quaky 
Bog  is  a  place  all  water  and  mud  —  deep, 
soft  mud  that  won't  hold  anything  up,  but 
lets  it  sink  and  sink  till  it 's  out  of  sight.  A 
bad  place,  indeed. 

15 


STORIES   TO   TELL 

The  Little  Bull  Calf  was  so  full  of  fun 
that  he  began  to  jump  and  run  downhill, 
and  he  never  looked  where  he  was  going,  so 
he  did  n't  see  the  Quaky  Bog  lying  there. 

Faster  and  faster  he  ran,  —  down,  down, 
down,  —  till  suddenly, plump! — splash  ! — ■ 
he  landed  on  all  four  feet  in  the  horrid 
mud. 

Splish,  splash,  came  the  dirty  water  over 
his  pretty  coat,  and,  kerchunck,  went  his 
hoofs  into  the  soft  mud. 

Then  the  Little  Bull  Calf  did  look  where 
he  had  gone,  and  saw  what  a  Quaky  Bog 
he  was  in,  and  he  tried  to  get  out  of  it  that 
very  minute.  But,  oh,  dear,  he  couldn't! 
As  fast  as  he  tried  to  draw  up  one  foot,  the 
others  sank  deeper.  The  harder  he  strug- 
gled, the  more  the  hateful  mud  oozed  all 
round  his  body.  At  last'he  had  sunk  so  far 
that  he  cou\d  no  longer  bend  his  knees,  and 
at  that  the  poor  Little  Bull  Calf  saw  that 
the  Quaky  Bog  would  swallow  him  up,  all 
of  him,  if  some  one  did  n't  help  him  quickly. 

16 


THE   LITTLEST   ONES 

He  was  terribly  frightened.  But  he  was 
a  brave  little  calf,  and  he  knew  his  mother 
would  never  let  that  Quaky  Bog  swallow 
him  if  she  knew  where  he  was.  So  he  began 
to  call  to  her,  just  as  loud  and  long  as  he 
could:  "Ma — ma  —  ma!" 

It  was  a  long,  long  way  from  the  Quaky 
Bog  to  the  Home  Pasture,  for  the  little  calf 
had  run  very  fast  while  he  was  n't  looking; 
and  his  voice  was  not  very  strong  because 
he  was  not  very  big,  himself.  But  Mother 
Cow's  ears  were  very  sharp,  and  presently 
she  heard  a  faint  sound;  "Ma — ma,"  it 
said. 

Mother  Cow  lifted  her  head  and  stopped 
chewing  her  cud.  "What  is  that?"  she 
thought;  "  it  sounds  like  my  little  calf."  She 
looked  all  round,  but  the  little  calf  was  no- 
where in  sight.  She  ran  into  the  pasture 
where  he  had  been,  but  he  was  not  there. 
And  still  came  the  sounds,  "Ma  —  Ma." 

Then  the  Mother  Cow  saw  the  broken 
fence  and  she  knew  instantly  that  the  Little 

17 


STORIES   TO   TELL 

Bull  Calf  was  in  trouble.  And  loud  as  she 
could  she  began  to  call  for  help.  "Moo  — 
moo  —  where  —  where !  " 

Father  Bull,  over  in  his  own  yard,  heard 
her  and  knew  something  was  wrong.  And 
he  lifted  up  his  great  head,  and  roared  with 
his  mighty  voice,  "Come!  c-o-m-el" 

The  Farmer  heard  them  both  and  came 
to  see  what  was  the  matter.  No  Little  Bull 
Calf  in  the  pasture;  a  broken  fence;  little 
hoof-marks  across  the  field,  —  the  Farmer 
saw  at  once  what  had  happened.  And  when 
he  heard  that  faint,  frightened  "Ma  —  ma 
—  ma,"  he  turned  to  his  man  and  said,  "I 
believe  the  little  rascal  is  in  the  Quaky  Bog. 
Bring  ropes  and  a  plank."  And  he  jumped 
on  Bessy,  his  horse,  and  rode  fast  to  the  hill 
above  the  Quaky  Bog. 

My,  but  they  were  just  in  time!  The 
Little  Bull  Calf  had  sunk  till  his  four  legs 
were  out  of  sight,  and  his  stiff  little  tail  was 
lying  in  the  mud. 

With  planks  they  got  to  him,  and  with 

18 


THE   LITTLEST   ONES 

ropes  they  found  a  way  to  lift  him.  And 
with  strong  Bessy's  help  they  pulled  him 
out  at  last  and  saved  him  from  the  dreadful 
Quaky  Bog.  The  Farmer's  man  cleaned  off 
his  pretty  coat,  and  on  his  little  tottering 
legs  he  went  slowly  back  to  his  mother. 

And  his  motherl  licked  him  all  over  with 
her  kind,  warm  tongue,  and  cuddled  him, 
and  talked  to  him  till  he  stopped  trembling. 
Then  she  said,  "I  hope  this  will  teach  you 
at  last  to  look  where  you  are  going." 

And  it  did. 


In  Old  Pattind  Ha 


T 


( Very  freely  adapted  from  the  Swabiari) 

Pat  the  dough  for  baking, 
Cookies  are  a-making, 
Cookies  take  good  things  a-plenty, 
Five  or  ten  or  twelve  or  twenty. 

One,  two,  three  — 
Guess  how  many  I  have  now  ? 
(Child  guesses) 


No,  I  have  more  things  than  that, 
Dough  must  have  another  pat ! 

20 


THE    LITTLEST   ONES 

One,  two,  three  — 
Guess  how  many  I  have  now  ? 

(Child  guesses) 

Oh,  you  've  guessed  too  many,  so 
Once  again  I  pat  my  dough ! 

One,  two,  three  — 
Guess  how  many  I  have  now  ? 
(Child  guesses) 

Yes,  you  've  guessed  the  number  right ! 
No  more  pats  for  dough  to-night. 

In  this  game,  hold  the  child  in  your  arms  or 
across  your  knees,  and  pat  or  rub  the  little  back 
rhythmically.  At  the  "one,  two,  three,"  touch 
the  shoulders  with  the  finger.  You  may  make 
the  child  guess  as  often  as  you  wish. 


The  Velocipede  that  went  by  itself- 

Once  there  was  a  Little  Velocipede  that 
came  to  Jimmy  Boy  on  Christmas.  It  was 
shiny,  and  strong,  and  had  rubber  tires. 
Jimmy  Boy  rode  it  all  day  long,  round  and 
round  the  halls,  in  and  out  the  living-room, 
in  and  out  the  library,  and  back  down  the 
hall  again. 

Jimmy  Boy  rode  faster  and  faster,  in  and 
out  amongst  the  furniture,  till  mother  said 
it  made  her  fairly  dizzy,  and  all  the  time 
ringing  his  little  bell :  Ding-dong,  ting-a- 
ling- ling  / 

At  last  mother  said,  "You  have  riddeu 
that  velocipede  so  much  I  should  almost 
think  it  could  go  by  itself." 

Jimmy  Boy  was  standing  by  the  Veloci- 


22 


THE   LITTLEST   ONES 

pede  with  his  foot  ready  to  jump  on.  Sud- 
denly the  Little  Velocipede  started  off  by 
itself!  It  rolled  down  the  hall,  gently  at 
first,  then  quickly  and  more  quickly. 

"  Stop,  stop,"  cried  Jimmy,  "  I  want  to 

get  on !  " 

But  the  Little  Velocipede  only  rolled 
faster,  and  turned  the  corner  into  the  living- 
room.  Faster  and  ever  faster  it  went,  round 
corners,  through  rooms,  out  of  doors  and 
in  at  doors.  And  pretty  soon  its  little  bell 
began  to  ring. 

"Ding-dong!  Come  along  I"  it  said. 
"  Ding-dong  !  Come  along  !  " 

Jimmy  ran  after  it,  and  his  mother  ran 
after  Jimmy,  and  the  maid  ran  after  mother, 
and  all  the  while  the  Little  Velocipede  rolled 
more  swiftly  and  rang  its  bell  harder.  It 
skimmed  by  the  chairs,  and  whisked  past 
the  tables,  and  as  it  went  the  bell  said,  — 


n 


Ting-a-ling-ling!  Ring:a-ting-ting ! 

Did  n't  touch  a  thing!  Did  n't  touch  a  thing!" 


23 


STORIES   TO   TELL 

Just  then  some  one  opened  the  door,  and 
out  raced  the  Little  Velocipede,  down  the 
stairs  and  down  the  steps  and  along  the 
walk.  And  out  raced  Jimmy  and  mother 
and  the  maid  after  it. 

But  the  Little  Velocipede  rolled  faster 
and  faster,  and  its  little  bell  said,  — 

1 '  He-he-he-he!  He-he-he-he! 
Can't  catch  me!  Can't  catch  me!  " 

So  they  called  the  Postman  to  help. 

But  the  Postman  had  a  lame  knee  and 
he  could  n't  catch  the  Little  Velocipede.  It 
fairly  flew  up  the  street,  and  as  it  went  it 
rang  its  little  bell  to  say,  — 

"Ding-ding,  letter  ring! 
Ding-dong,  step  along!" 

So  they  called  the  Policeman  to  help. 

But  the  Policeman  was  very  fat  and  he 
could  n't  catch  the  Little  Velocipede.  It 
only  shook  its  little  handle  bars  and  rang 
its  little  bell  to  say,  — 

24 


IT  ONLY  SHOOK  ITS  LITTLE  HANDLE  BARS  AND  RANG  ITS 

LITTLE  BELL 


THE    LITTLEST   ONES 

"  Look  at  that!  Far  too  fat! 
You're  too  slow;  I  must  go!" 

So  they  called  the  Fire  Engine  to  help. 
And  it  came  with  a  clamor  and  clang,  and 
a  snap  and  a  bang,  down  the  street.  But 
the  Little  Velocipede  only  rolled  more 
swiftly  and  rang  its  little  bell  like  mad.  It 
said,  — 

"Put  on  speed!  Put  on  speed! 
I'm  the  fast  Velocipede!" 

And  when  the  Fire  Engine  did  put  on 
speed,  the  Little  Velocipede  said,  — 

"  Ding-a-ding-ding-ding! 
Going  to  a  fire,  on  a  rubber  tire, 
Whiz  and  whirr  and  hum  and  purrt 
Chug  and  choo!  I  Jll  beat  you! 
Ding-a-ding-ding-ding-ding! ' ' 

And  the  Fire  Engine  could  n't  catch  the 
Little  Velocipede. 

Then  Jimmy  Boy  began  to  cry,  "  Oh, 
please,  Little  Velocipede,  don't  leave  me! 
Please,  dear  Little  Velocipede,  come  back." 

25 


STORIES   TO   TELL 

At  that  the  Little  Velocipede  stopped 
short  on  the  corner,  whirled  round  on  its 
hind  wheels,  and  rolled  home  again ! 

And  the  Fire  Engine  and  the  Policeman 
and  the  Postman  and  the  maid  and  mother 
and  Jimmy  Boy  ran  home  after  it. 

When  the  Little  Velocipede  got  to  the 
front  steps,  it  lifted  its  little  front  wheel  and 
flew  right  up  them,  still  ringing  its  little  bell 
and  saying,  — » 


V  Could  n't  catch  me,  could  n't  match  me, 
Raced  'em  all  and  beat  'em  to  it, 
Everybody  saw  me  do  it! 
Now  I'm  coming  home  to  stay,    ) 
Never  going  to  run  away 
Any  more,  any  day." 

Jimmy  Boy  and  mother  and  the  maid 
ran  up  the  steps  after  it  and  shut  the  door, 
but  the  Fire  Engine  and  the  Postman  and 
the  Policeman  went  home.   » 

When  Jimmy  Boy  got  to  the  top  of  the 
stairs,  the  Little  Velocipede  was  standing 
quietly  in  the  hall.  Its  little  bell  was  tink- 

26 


THE   LITTLEST   ONES 

ling  very  faintly,  and  Jimmy  thought  it 
said,  — 

"  No,  indeed,  no  —  more  —  speed. 
I'm  —  the  —  good  —  Velocipede." 

But  Jimmy  never  was  sure,  and  I  don't 
know,  because  that  was  the  last  time  the 
little  bell  ever  spoke,  and  never  again  did 
the  Velocipede  go  by  itself. 


Three  Jingles 

About  the  Rain 

When  the  rain  beats 

against    the    windows, 

and  the  water  runs  down 

in  long  streaks  on  the 

glass,  the  little  boy  and 

girl  tease  Nursie  to  take 

a  walk  with  them.    Then  Father  says  the 

rain  is  talking  to  them.     "Listen,  the  rain 

says,  — 

.  '  If  you  come  out,  I  will  wet  you ; 
If  you  stay  in,  I  can't  get  you ! '  " 


Out  the  Window 
On     the    great     white 

snow 
The  sun  shines  so, 
And   the    smoke    does 

blow,  blow,  blow! 


28 


THE   LITTLEST   ONES 

In  the  Barnyard 

Chickabiddy,  Henpenny,  Rooster,  too. 
Chickabiddy  runs  when  I  say,  "Shoo!" 
Henpenny  flies  when  I  say,  "Boo!" 
Big  brown  rooster  says,  "Kikikeriku! 
Not  afraid  of  you !  Not  afraid  of  you ! " 


WHO  DISCOVERED  THE 
MAPLE     SUGAR 


ui. iwiiu.  ttaggBs; 


A  long,  long  time  ago,  when  there  was 
no  one  in  the  great  forests  but  the  Indians 
and  the  Animals,  the  Little  Field  Mouse 
lived  in  an  open  glade  in  the  North  Coun- 
try. His  name  was  Momee,  and  he  was 
very  happy.  Food  was  plenty,  water  was 
near,  and  life  was  full  of  cozy  things. 

But  one  winter  the  snow  fell  frightfully 
deep,  covering  every  possible  thing  to  eat, 
and  the  cold  lasted  so  long  that  the  snow 
did  n't  melt  till  very  late.  It  was  the  longest 
and  hardest  winter  the  Animals  had  ever 
known.  Long  before  the  snow  melted,  Mo- 
mee was  hungry.  He  had  used  all  his  win- 

30 


THE   LITTLEST   ONES 

ter  store  of  nuts  and  seeds,  and  there  were 
no  juicy  roots  and  young  shoots  of  green 
to  be  had. 

In  all  the  world  around  him,  nothing 
showed  above  the  deep  snow  but  just  the 
trees.  And  Momee  could  n't  eat  them. 

But  at  last  came  a  day  when  he  was  so 
hungry  that  he  felt  as  if  he  could  even  eat  a 
tree  !  He  ran  along  over  the  hard  icy  crust 
to  the  Fir  Tree,  standing  so  tall  and  dark, 
its  sighing  branches  far  above  his  sight. 
With  his  sharp  little  teeth,  he  nibbled  a  bit 
of  the  bark. 

Oh,  it  was  puckery !  Puckery  and  pun- 
gent and  dreadful.  The  Little  Field  Mouse 
had  to  rub  his  nose  in  the  snow  to  take  the 
"feel "  away. 

He  ran  away  over  the  icy  crust  till  he 
came  to  the  Pine  Tree,  giant  of  the  woods, 
where  there  was  always  a  little  less  snow 
than  anywhere  else,  because  the  Pine  gave 
out  warmth  from  its  body.  He  nibbled  a 
bit  of  its  bark,  close  to  the  ground. 

3i 


STORIES   TO   TELL 

Oh,  but  it  was  sharp  and  shivery  and 
horrid !  It  made  his  mouth  burn  and  sting. 
He  had  to  rub  his  tongue  in  the  snow  to  take 
the  taste  away. 

So  he  ran  away  over  the  icy  crust  till 
he  came  to  the  Hemlock  Tree,  standing 
with  its  brothers  and  shading  all  the  deep 
gorge  with  its  great  soft  branches.  He 
nibbled  a  little  of  its  bark,  close  to  the 
ground. 

Oh,  oh,  dear !  It  was  so  bitter  and  bad 
that  the  Little  Field  Mouse  spit  it  out,  quick 
as  a  wink,  and  took  a  whole  mouthful  of 
snow  to  wash  the  taste  out.  Whee,  but  it 
was  bad ! 

The  Little  Field  Mouse  was  so  discour- 
aged that  he  ran  away  home  and  didn't 
come  back  that  day. 

But  the  next  day  he  was  so  hungry  that 
he  had  to  try  again.  He  felt  as  if  he  could 
eat  anything !  So  he  ran  along  over  the  icy 
crust  till  he  came  to  the  Beech  Tree,  stand- 
ing so  stately  with  its  silver  trunk,  near  the 

32 


THE   LITTLEST   ONES 

Hemlock.  And  very  carefully  he  nibbled 
at  it,  close  to  the  ground. 

It  was  n't  so  very  bad.  It  didn't  hurt  his 
mouth,  anyway,  so  he  nibbled  some  more. 
But  the  Beech  Tree's  bark  was  tough,  and 
had  no  taste  in  particular,  and  after  a  while 
the  Little  Field  Mouse  decided  it  would  n't 
stop  his  hunger  to  nibble  on  that,  —  not  if 
he  nibbled  all  night 

So  he  ran  away  over  the  icy  crust  till  he 
came  to  the  Maple  Tree,  with  its  cloudy 
gray  stem,  and  its  pleasant  look.  He  nib- 
bled a  little  at  its  bark  very  carefully. 

Mmmmm  !  It  was  nice !  It  had  a  faint, 
sweet,  fascinating  flavor ! 

The  Little  Field  Mouse  nibbled  some 
more,  very  eagerly,  and  some  more.  It  was 
truly  good.  It  was  a  little  sweet.  He  nib- 
bled and  nibbled,  until  he  made  a  little  hole 
through  the  outer  bark ;  the  sap  came  ooz- 
ing out  in  a  big  drop.  The  Little  Field 
Mouse  licked  it  up.  Oh,  my!  Oh,  my!  It 
was   sweet,    the   sweetest   thing   that   the 

33 


STORIES   TO   TELL 

Little  Field  Mouse  had  ever  tasted.  It  was 
delicious. 

The  Little  Field  Mouse  nibbled  and 
licked,  and  the  more  he  tasted  the  better  he 
liked  it.  The  sap  oozed  out  of  the  hole 
he  made,  with  that  faint,  delicious  sweetness 
about  it,  like  nothing  else  in  the  whole  for- 
est. And  he  ate  till  he  was  quite  over  being 
hungry. 

Every  day  he  came  back  and  sipped  his 
wonderful  maple  sap,  and  in  a  short  time, 
long  before  the  ground  was  bare  enough 
to  furnish  other  food,  he  began  to  grow  fat 
and  sleek. 

One  morning  as  he  was  running  along 
very  early,  he  met  Eagle  Feather  full  in  the 
path.  Eagle  Feather  was  ten  years  old,  and 
son  of  the  Chief  Hunter  of  his  tribe.  He  was 
a  nice  boy,  brave,  and  sharp-eyed,  and 
kind. 

"Hi,  Little  Brother,"  he  said  to  Momee. 
"How  sleek  you  look,  this  hard  winter! 
Had  you  so  great  store  of  nuts  laid  by  ?  " 

34 


THE   LITTLEST   ONES 

"  No,  Big  Brother,"  said  the  Little  Field 
Mouse,  "  not  nuts ;  I  am  fat  with  the  sap 
of  a  tree." 

"Tease  me  not!"  said  Eagle  Feather 
sharply. 

"  Nay,  I  do  not  tease,"  said  the  Little 
Field  Mouse  very  quickly.  "  See,  I  will 
show  you." 

And  he  ran  ahead  of  Eagle  Feather  to  the 
Maple  Grove.  "This  I  have  nibbled,"  he 
said. 

Eagle  Feather  looked  and  saw  marks  of 
nibbling  on  one  tree  and  another. 

"Is  it  good,  Little  Brother?"  he  asked. 

"Most  good,"  said  Momee.  "Taste! 
There  is  enough  sap  in  the  forest  for  all." 

Eagle  Feather  bent  and  looked  where  a 
big  drop  of  maple  sap  was  shining  on  the 
bark.  He  touched  it  with  his  finger  and  put 
his  finger  in  his  mouth.  Then  he  grunted, 
a  funny  Indian  grunt  of  surprise  and  pleas- 
ure. "It  is  sweet !  "  he  said. 

"  Most  sweet,"  said  Momee. 

35 


STORIES   TO   TELL 

Eagle  Feather  made  a  hole  in  the  bark, 
with  his  sharp-edged  horn  knife,  above  the 
nibbled  place  ;  as  the  sap  oozed,  he  held  his 
fingers  to  it,  and  tasted  again. 

"  This  thing  is  good  drink,"  he  said. 
"  Keep  you  to  your  trees,  Little  Brother, 
and  I  will  take  those  of  the  hillside ;  I  have 
a  thought." 

So  after  the  Little  Field  Mouse  had  run 
away  home,  Eagle  Feather  went  swiftly  to 
his  father's  lodge  where  his  Granny  lived 
and  took  care  of  him,  and  of  her  he  begged 
one  of  the  earthen  water  crocks.  Then  he 
went  back  to  the  Maple  Grove  and  drove  a 
pointed  piece  of  wood  into  the  bark  of  the 
Maple  Tree,  to  reach  through  to  the  sap, 
and  when  he  had  a  hole  through,  he  shaped 
a  kind  of  trough  of  wood  and  drove  one  end 
into  the  opening  so  that  the  sap  would  run 
down  it.  And  below,  he  set  the  earthen 
water  crock  begged  from  Granny.  Into  this 
the  sap  must  run. 

Next  day  as  the  brown-faced,  sharp-eyed 

36 


THE   LITTLEST  ONES 

Grandmother  sat  at  her  lodge  door  weaving 
baskets,  Eagle  Feather  came  stepping  cau- 
tiously from  the  forest,  bearing  the  great 
earthen  crock.  Silently  and  mysteriously  he 
set  it  down  before  Grandmother,  and  told 
her  to  taste  it. 

Granny  tasted  and  found  the  sweet,  faint, 
fascinating  flavor  delightful. 

"  What  is  it,  and  where  from  ?  "  she  said. 

"  Sap  of  the  Maple ;  't  is  a  secret !  "  said 
Eagle  Feather,  his  black  eyes  shining. 

"  Not  harmful,  then,"  said  the  Grand- 
mother, and  tasted  again.  "  Ugh !  't  is  good 
drink,"  she  said  then. 

Eagle  Feather  was  delighted.  He  felt 
very  proud  of  himself,  and  very  pleased  to 
think  there  was  so  handy  a  supply  of  sweets 
for  him. 

Pretty  soon,  Grandmother  looked  up 
from  her  thoughts.  "I  believe  this  sap 
would  be  the  sweeter  for  boiling,"  she  said. 
"I  will  try." 

That   night  was  a  wonderful  meal  for 

37 


STORIES   TO   TELL 

Eagle  Feather  and  for  his  father,  the  might}! 
Hunter.  On  cakes,  baked  on  hot  stones, 
they  ate  the  maple  sap  boiled  down  to  a 
thick  syrup.  And  it  was  good  —  ah,  how 
good  it  was !  Nothing  like  it  had  ever  gone 
into  little  Eagle  Feather's  mouth  before.  He 
ate  and  ate,  till  every  bit  was  gone,  and  after 
the  supper,  though  the  moon  was  bright 
in  the  forest,  and  little  Indians  belonged 
under  the  furs,  he  stole  forth  with  his 
crock  and  set  it  under  the  Maple  Tree 
again. 

Every  day  Granny  boiled  sap  and  every 
day  they  feasted,  till  the  Little  Field  Mouse 
was  no  fatter  or  sleeker  than  they. 

Then,  one  day,  Granny  forgot  to  take  the 
sap  from  the  fire,  because  there  was  great 
excitement  in  the  lodges ;  Great  Bear  had 
killed  much  moose  at  the  hunt,  and  the  vil- 
lage was  full  of  talk.  When  she  remembered 
her  cooking  and  ran  to  the  fire,  the  sap  had 
all  boiled  away  to  sugar !  Granny  looked  at 
it  in  surprise,  then  she  stirred  some  of  it 

38 


SILENTLY  AND   MYSTERIOUSLY   HE   SET  IT    DOWN   BEFORE 

GRANDMOTHER 


THE   LITTLEST   ONES 

with  a  stick  and  tasted  it.  Then  she  called 
Eagle  Feather. 

11  Taste ! "  she  said,  and  little  Eagle 
Feather  tasted. 

11  Oh,  Granny  I  "  he  said,  "  oh,  Granny !  " 
And  his  eyes  shone  like  stars.  "  It  is  the 
best  thing  I  have  ever  tasted.  How  made 
you  that  ?  " 

"'Tis  the  Maple  sap,  cooked  away," 
said  Granny.  "  Never  have  I  eaten  such 
sweetness." 

So  from  that  day,  all  the  spring,  in  the 
lodge  of  Eagle  Feather's  father  there  was 
both  syrup  and  sugar  of  Maple  sap,  and 
Eagle  Feather  ate  to  his  heart's  content. 

And  that  is  the  way  we  came  to  have 
Maple  Sugar.  But  the  Little  Field  Mouse 
discovered  it  first 


Two  Little  Kitt 


ens 


From  Mother  Goose 
Two  little  kittens,  one  stormy  night, 
Began  to  quarrel  and  then  to  fight ; 
One  had  a  mouse,  and  the  other  had  none, 
And  that 's  the  way  the  quarrel  begun. 

"  I  '11  have  that  mouse,"  said  the  bigger  cat. 
"  You  '11  have  that   mouse?     We  '11   see 

about  that!" 
"  I  will  have  that  mouse,"  said  the  older 

son. 
"You  shan't  have  the  mouse,"   said  the 

little  one. 

40 


THE   LITTLEST   ONES 

I  told  you  before  'twas  a  stormy  night 
When    these   two   little   kittens  began  to 

fight ; 
The  old  woman  seized  her  sweeping  broom, 
And  swept  the  two  kittens  right  out  of  the 

room. 

The  ground  was  covered  with  frost  and 

snow, 
And  the  two  little  kittens  had  nowhere  to 

go; 

So  they  laid  them  down  on  the  mat  at  the 

door, 
While  the   old  woman  finished  sweeping 

the  floor. 

Then  they  crept  in,  as  quiet  as  mice, 

All  wet  with  the  snow,  and  as  cold  as  ice, 

For  they  found  it  was  better  that  stormy 

night, 
To  lie  down  and  sleep  than  to  quarrel  and 

fight. 


When  Peter  Rabbit  had 
the   Earache 


Once  Peter  Rabbit  had  the  earache.  He 
kept  his  hand  over  his  ear,  and  cried. 

So  Mother  Rabbit  started  out  with  her 
shawl  and  basket,  to  go  to  the  little  flannel 
bush  in  the  hollow,  and  get  some  leaves 
for  a  poultice.  She  thought  she  would  go 
by  the  short  cut,  across  the  brook  by  the 
old  pear  tree. 

But  when  she  got  into  the  path,  it  was 
all  muddy,   and  full    of  little  puddles  of 

42 


SHE    KNOCKED  AT  THE  DOOR 


THE    LITTLEST   ONES 

brother  and  sister  Woodchuck,  with  their 
hands  over  their  ears,  crying. 

Mother  Rabbit  found  the  fire  all  fixed,  and 
she  made  two  warm,  warm  poultices,  and 
put  them  in  warm,  warm  cloths,  and  tied 
them  on  the  little  Woodchucks'  ears,  and 
then  she  put  them  in  their  warm,  warm  bed- 
dies,  and  they  fell  fast  asleep. 

As  soon  as  they  were  fast  asleep,  Mother 
Rabbit  took  up  her  basket  and  shawl  and 
hurried  home.  And  she  opened  the  door 
and  went  in.  And  there  was  her  darling 
little  Peter,  fast  asleep. 

So  Mother  Rabbit,  who  was  very  tired 
from  hurrying,  went  to  bed,  too,  and  she 
fell  fast  asleep. 

And  the  next  morning,  darling  little  Peter 
was  all  well  of  his  earache,  and  the  four 
little  Foxes  were  all  well  of  their  earaches, 
and  the  little  brother  and  sister  Woodchuck 
were  all  well  of  their  earaches. 

And  that 's  the  end  of  the  story. 


Mi 


Soj 


eas  unrig  ^ong 

A  calisthenics  game  to  be  played  by  one  or  more 

children 

Measure  the  wool, 

And  measure  the  yarn, 

And  count  the  sheep  in  your  father's  barn. 

Measure  the  thread, 

And  measure  the  silk, 

And  count  the  buckets  of  creamy  milk. 

Measure  the  barley, 

And  measure  the  grain, 

And  put  your  right  foot  out  in  the  rain. 

Measure  the  oats, 
And  measure  the  rye, 
And  put  your  left  foot  out  to  dry. 

48 


THE   LITTLEST   ONES 

Measure  the  hummock, 

And  measure  the  hill, 

And  reach  for  the  mountain  higher  still. 

Measure  the  clouds, 

And  measure  the  sky, 

And  stretch  your  hands  to  the  birds  that  fly. 

Measure  the  windmill, 

To  and  fro, 

And  round  and  round  at  last  you  go ! 

In  playing  this  game  the  children  do  the  fol- 
lowing exercises :  — 

First  verse.  Stretch  the  arms  out  sidewise  from 
the  chest;  hands  are  stretched  at  "wool"  and 
"yarn";  they  meet  on  the  chest  at  "measure" 
and  "measure."  At  "sheep"  both  hands  are 
stretched  forward  with  fingers  widespread. 

Second  verse.  Repeat  the  motions,  in  the  same 
rhythm. 

Third  verse.  Bend  forward,  stretching  the 
hands  down  toward  the  floor,  reaching  the  lowest 
point  at  "barley"  and  "grain,"  and  straighten- 
ing to  an  erect  position  at  " measure "  and  "meas- 
ure," with  hands  meeting  on  chest. 

49 


STORIES   TO   TELL 

Fourth  verse.  Repeat  the  motions  in  same 
rhythm. 

Fifth  verse.  Stretch  the  hands  upward,  reach- 
ing the  highest  point  on  ' '  hummock ' '  and  ' '  hill ' ' ; 
and  for  the  last  line  hold  the  hands  upward,  with 
head  tipped  backward. 

Sixth  verse.   Repeat  the  motions  in  rhythm. 

Seventh  verse.  Swing  the  arms  full  length 
twice  from  right  to  left,  and  on  the  last  line  twirl 
round  on  the  toes. 


The  Ambiiious  Apple 


Once  a  little  apple  hung  on  a  tree,  on  a 
hill.    It  tried  as  hard  as  it  could  to  grow 

5i 


STORIES   TO   TELL 

big  and  round  and  juicy,  and  to  let  the  sun 
make  it  rosy,  because  it  was  an  ambitious 
apple.  And  this  was  its  ambition :  to  grow 
so  big  and  juicy  and  rosy  that  it  would  be 
taken  to  the  great  white  house  at  the  foot 
of  the  hill,  and  be  put  on  the  breakfast  table 
in  the  dining  room,  and  be  eaten  by  the 
lovely  lady  and  the  two  dear  little  children 
who  lived  there.  It  thought  to  itself:  "I  shall 
appear  on  the  table  and  I  shall  give  joy, 
and  I  shall  have  joy." 

When  the  wind  blew,  the  little  apple 
swung  gently  to  and  fro,  and  grew.  When 
the  rain  fell,  the  little  apple  drank  it  all  in, 
and  grew.  When  the  sun  was  bright,  the 
little  apple  held  its  cheek  happily  to  the 
warmth  and  turned  rosier.  Because  it  was 
an  ambitious  apple. 

But  one  day,  before  the  little  apple  had 
had  nearly  enough  time  to  grow  juicy  and 
big,  a  Boy  came  along  over  the  hill,  and 
saw  it  hanging  there.  "  My,  what  a  nice  red 
apple ! "  he  said.  And  he  took  up  a  stick  and 

52 


THE    LITTLEST   ONES 

threw  it,  and  knocked  the  ambitious  apple 
right  off  the  tree  ! 

But,  oh,  dear,  when  the  boy  took  a  bite 
of  the  little  apple,  he  did  n't  like  it  a  bit ! 
It  was  hard,  and  it  was  sour.  You  know 
it  had  n't  had  time  to  get  ripe.  So  the  boy 
just  threw  it  away. 

Far  away  over  the  top  of  the  hill,  rolled 
the  poor  little  apple,  and  stopped  at  last  in 
the  grass  beside  a  tiny  footpath.  Far,  far 
from  the  white  house  it  lay,  with  its  ambi- 
tion all  spoiled,  and  its  cheek  bitten  into. 

By  and  by  a  man  came  walking  over 
the  hill,  by  the  tiny  footpath.  He  saw  the 
red  cheek  of  the  little  apple,  half  hidden  in 
the  grass,  and  picked  it  up.  Then  he  saw 
that  it  had  been  bitten  into.  "  Now  I  know 
what  I  '11  do  with  you,"  he  said,  and  he 
walked  across  the  field  to  the  pasture  where 
a  gentle  Gummy  Cow  was  standing,  chew- 
ing her  cud.  He  put  the  little  apple  under 
Gummy  Cow's  nose,  and  she  munched  it  up 
in  no  time;  it  was  n't  too  sour  for  her. 

53 


STORIES   TO   TELL 

The  little  red  apple  went  right  down  into 
Gummy  Cow's  milk  factory,  and  got  made 
into  the  most  delicious  milk.  And  that  eve- 
ning the  farm  man  came  and  milked 
Gummy,  and  filled  a  pail  with  the  milk,  and 
the  little  red  apple  was  a  part  of  it ! 

Then  the  man  carried  the  milk  down  the 
hill,  to  the  big  white  house,  and  the  cook 
put  it  in  a  cool  room  for  the  night. 

And  next  morning,  the  little  red  apple, 
all  turned  into  creamy  milk,  was  put  in  a 
blue  pitcher,  and  brought  into  the  dining 
room.  And  the  lovely  lady  and  the  two 
beautiful  children  drank  it  all  up  !  And  as 
they  drank,  they  said,  "  Oh,  how  good  the 
milk  is  !  It  never  was  better!  " 

And  the  ambitious  little  apple  was  con- 
tent, for  its  ambition  was  fulfilled. 


Rosey  Posey 


Rosey  Posey  gets  up  at  eight, 
Goes  to  school  and  never  is  late ; 

Rosey  Posey  dines  at  one,  — 

When  her  lessons  and  sums  are  done. 


Rosey  Posey  at  five  has  her  tea, 
Dolls  and  kittens  invited  free, 

55 


STORIES   TO   TELL 

Rosey  Posey  plays  at  six,  — 
Builds  a  beautiful  house  of  bricks, 

Rosey  Posey  at  seven  o'clock 
Takes  off  pinafore,  shoe  and  sock ; 

Eight  by  the  clock  she 's  tuck'd  up  cozy,  — 
End  of  the  day  for  Rosey  Posey  I1 

Children  like  this,  with  music,  to  use  for  a  pan- 
tomime game.  They  act  it  out  as  the  mother  or 
teacher  sings  the  verse. 

1  From  the  collection  of  children's  songs,  Pillow-Land,  by 
Clifton  Bingham,  published  by  the  Boston  Music  Company,  Bos- 
ton, Massachusetts,  and  used  by  permission. 


The  old  Upple  Tree 


There  was  once  an  apple  orchard  on  an 
old  farm.  For  many  years  the  soil  was 
not  plowed,  and  the  trees  were  not  cared 
for.  The  orchard  grew  older  and  poorer, 
till  at  last  it  was  all  worthless  sprouts, 
broken  trunks  and  worm-eaten  foliage.  The 
few  apples  were  hard  and  sour. 

But  there  was  one  of  the  trees  that  never 
stopped  trying.  It  stood  close  by  the  old 
gate,  and  its  good  branches  hung  over 
the  tumble-down  wall.  There  were  not 
many  of  these  good  branches ;  half  the 
trunk  was  split  off  by  lightning,  and  the 
whole  top  of  the  other  side  was  dead  of 
drought.  But  towards  the  bottom  there  were 

57 


STORIES   TO   TELL 

still  two  or  three  limbs  with  a  little  life  in 
them,  and  they  tried,  year  after  year,  to  put 
forth  apples  as  they  had  done  in  happier 
times. 

The  Tree  could  not  be  content  to  be  use- 
less. It  remembered  the  time  when  its  juicy, 
glowing  fruit  was  the  finest  on  the  farm. 
Before  the  gathering  time,  the  little  children 
used  to  sit  in  its  shade  and  eat  the  wind- 
falls, and  always  the  Tree  heard  them  say, 
11  Oh,  what  a  good  apple !  These  are  the 
best  of  all !  " 

It  dreamed  of  this  through  all  the 
neglected  years,  and  every  summer  it  tried 
with  its  failing  strength  to  put  out  the  same 
fruit,  so  that  men  might  eat  and  praise  it. 
But  no  one  came  that  way  any  more,  — 
only  once  in  a  while  a  few  boys,  playing 
hare  and  hounds,  or  a  berry-picker  with  her 
pail.  And  these  seldom  tried  a  bite  from 
the  desolate  looking  orchard.  If  they  did, 
it  was  only  to  throw  the  apples  away  with 
a  twisted  mouth  for  their  sourness. 

58 


THE   LITTLEST   ONES 

The  old  Tree  was  very  sad.  But  it  could 
not  stop  trying ;  it  felt  that  it  must  try  till 
it  died.  Each  year  of  hard,  dry  soil  and 
tearing  storm  took  a  little  of  its  life  away. 
And  finally  a  spring  came  that  the  Tree  felt 
must  be  its  last.  But  with  the  feeling  came 
a  new,  stronger  longing,  once  more  to  put 
out  good  fruit,  once  more  to  feed  some  one, 
and  to  be  praised. 

The  Tree  tried  as  never  before  ;  it  drew 
up  all  the  scanty  moisture  from  the  earth, 
and  turned  eagerly  to  the  warm  sun.  Its 
whole  heart  burned  with  a  desire  to  put 
forth  fruit,  —  good  fruit.  Little  by  little, 
apples  formed  on  the  one  best  branch.  Lit- 
tle by  little,  they  swelled  and  softened  and 
reddened.  No  other  branch  bore ;  the 
tree  was  almost  dead.  But  when  the  crisp 
autumn  weather  came,  that  one  single 
branch  of  ripe  apples  stood  out  like  a 
flag. 

The  old  Tree  was  very  tired.  "  I  wish 
I  might  know  they  are  good,"  it  thought. 

59 


STORIES   TO   TELL 

"  But  it  is  something  to  have  had  them.    I 
have  tried." 

One  glorious  October  day,  a  gentleman 
came  wandering  through  the  fields  of  the 
old  farm,  with  his  hunting  dog.  Presently  he 
turned  aside  into  the  old  orchard.  The  dog 
ran  all  about,  sniffing  and  wagging  his  tail. 

The  gentleman  took  off  his  hat  and 
cooled  his  forehead  in  the  wind.  "  A  pretty 
day,  Snipe,"  he  said  to  the  dog.  Snipe 
pricked  his  ears  for  answer.  "  It  is  a  pity 
these  trees  have  run  out,"  the  gentleman 
said,  "a  good  apple  would  taste  just  right 
to  me  now." 

At  that  moment  he  saw  the  gleam  of  red 
from  the  old  Tree.  He  pushed  his  way 
through  the  tangle,  till  he  came  close  to  the 
old  gate,  and  saw  the  one  branch,  full  of  red 
apples.  "  H'm,"  he  said,  "  those  really  look 
as  if  they  might  be  eatable  ;  I  wonder  ?  " 

As  he  spoke,  he  picked  one  of  the  apples, 
and  bit  into  it,  carefully,  not  wanting  to 
get  a  sour  mouthful. 

60 


THE   LITTLEST   ONES 

"  Well,  well! "  he  said,  "it  is  really  good ! " 
and  he  began  to  eat  it  As  he  ate,  he  liked 
it  still  better,  and  presently  he  called  Snipe, 
and  found  himself  a  comfortable  seat  on 
the  moss  beneath  the  tree.  Snipe  stretched 
himself  by  his  master's  side,  his  head  close 
to  his  knee.  And  the  master  ate  his  apple 
slowly,  contentedly,  raising  his  kind  face  to 
the  soft  sky,  and  letting  a  spicy  wind  play 
over  his  head. 

When  the  apple  was  gone,  the  gentleman 
picked  another,  choosing  this  time  with 
great  care.  This,  too,  he  ate,  with  much  rel- 
ish. "  It  is  very  good,  Snipe,"  he  said.  "  It's 
a  pity  you  don't  care  for  fruit! " 

By  and  by  he  finished  the  second  apple, 
and  sitting  there  in  the  warm  sunshine, 
he  began  to  think  out  loud.  The  old  Tree 
heard  every  word.  He  said:  "Old  Tree, 
you  have  taught  me  a  lesson.  You  have 
taught  me  that  no  one  is  so  poor  or  old  or 
unfortunate  but  that  he  may  bear  good 
fruit.   Everything  in  the  world  may  give  its 

61 


STORIES   TO   TELL 

share  of  service  and   usefulness.  I  thank 
you ! " 

The  old  Tree  trembled  with  joy  through  all 
its  drying  leaves.  A  great  stillness  came  into 
its  heart ;  a  great  peace.  It  had  given  good 
fruit  to  be  eaten ;  it  had  been  appreciated,  it 
had  taught  a  wise  man  more  wisdom.  What 
more  could  life  give  ?  Whether  it  should  see 
another  spring  or  not  no  longer  mattered. 
The  Tree  was  content. 


Wha  lairn't  you  to  Dance 


Wha  lairn't  you  to  dance, 
You  to  dance,  you  to  dance, 

Wha  lairn't  you  to  dance  ? 
Bobbety  Bruce  de  Brawley  ! 

Mither  lairn't  me  to  dance, 
Me  to  dance,  me  to  dance, 

Mither  lairn't  me  to  dance, 
Bobbety  Bruce  de  Brawley  ! 

Wha  lairn't  you  to  bow, 
You  to  bow,  you  to  bow, 

63 


STORIES   TO   TELL 

Wha  lairn't  you  to  bow? 
Bobbety  Bruce  de  Brawley  ! 

Mither  lairn't  me  to  bow, 
Me  to  bow,  me  to  bow, 

Mither  lairn't  me  to  bow, 
Bobbety  Bruce  de  Brawley ! 

Wha  lairn't  you  to  rin, 

You  to  rin,  you  to  rin, 
Wha  lairn't  you  to  rin? 

Bobbety  Bruce  de  Brawley  I 

Mither  lairn't  me  to  rin, 

Me  to  rin,  me  to  rin, 
Mither  lairn't  me  to  rin, 

Bobbety  Bruce  de  Brawley! 

The  children,  singly  or  in  a  circle,  move  for- 
ward with  rhythmic  steps  and  gestures  for  three 
lines  of  each  verse.  On  the  fourth  line  they  make 
a  deep  curtsy. 

The  first  two  verses  are  the  original  fragment. 
I  have  added  the  others,  to  fill  out  the  game  ac- 
cording to  what  seems  the  early  intention. 


The  Foolish  Chauffeur 


One  day  the  new  chauffeur  took  the  car 
out  of  the  garage  and  drove  it  to  the  lady's 
door,  and  the  lady  and  her  children  got  in. 
The  chauffeur  said,  — 

"  The  car  is  in  very  bad  shape,  Madam." 

11  Oh,"  said  the  lady,  "  I  am  very  sorry 
to  hear  that !  It  seemed  all  right  when  Mr. 
Brown  drove  it  last  week.  What  is  the 
matter,  Hutchins?" 

"  The  hengine  's  in  very  bad  shape.  It 
will  need  a  complete  hover'aulin',"  said  the 
chauffeur. 

The  lady  was  distressed  to  hear  that  any- 
thing was  wrong  with  the  engine,  for  she 
did  not  want  anything  to  happen  to  their 

65 


STORIES   TO   TELL 

beautiful  car,  which  they  enjoyed  so  much, 
but  she  closed  the  door  and  said,  — 
"  We  will  go  to  the  farm,  please." 
The  chauffeur  started  the  engine,  and  it 
said,  — 

"Spit,  bang,  pouf!" 
Then  it  said,  short  and  puffily,  — 

"  I'll  do  my  best,  —  I  '11  do  my  best" 

As  they  got  out  on  the  smooth  road,  the 
engine  said, — 

"  Clankety,  clankety,  clankety,  clankety, 

"Why,  Hutchins,  how  bad  it  sounds," 
said  the  lady.  "  It  sounds  almost  as  if  the 
engine  were  dry.  Did  you  put  in  plenty  of 
oil?" 

"Yes,  Madam,"  said  the  chauffeur,  "I 
filled  it  hup  just  before  starting." 

The  lady  felt  sad  to  hear  the  engine  go 
"  Clankety,  clankety,  clankety,"  and  the 
children  felt  sad  too.  They  were  very  fond 

66 


THE   LITTLEST   ONES 

of  the  car,  which  gave  them  such  good  times, 
and  they  knew  father  had  paid  a  great  deal 
of  money  for  it. 

Pretty  soon  they  came  to  a  slight  hill  on 
the  road  to  the  farm,  fifteen  miles  away.  It 
was  not  the  worst  hill  on  the  way,  and  usu- 
ally the  car  hummed  and  skimmed  up  it,  like 
a  big  bird.  But  this  time  the  engine  began 
to  puff  like  a  fat  old  man,  before  they  were 
half  way  up.  The  children  thought  it 
said,  — 

"Afraid-I-can't,  Afraid-I-can't,  Afraid-I-can't," 

and  then  it  almost  stopped,  and  it  gasped 
out,  — 

11 Can't-do-it,  QaxCt-do-itr 

The  chauffeur  jammed  the  shift  into  low 
speed,  with  a  very  cross  look,  and  the  en- 
gine caught  its  breath,  and  said, — 

"Hard  going,  hard  going! 
That-is-better.  That-is-better. 


»> 


67 


STORIES   TO   TELL 

At  last  they  managed  to  creep  over  the 
top  of  the  hill,  and  the  poor  engine  began 
to  grind  out  again,  — 

"Clankety,  clankety,  clankety." 

"This  car  never  made  trouble  on  a  hill 
before,"  said  the  lady.  "  Hutchins,  are 
you  sure  you  filled  the  oil  tank?" 

"  Certainly,  Madam,"  said  the  chauffeur. 

"  Are  the  grease  cups  full  ?  "  said  the 
lady. 

"  Certainly,  Madam,"  said  the  chauffeur, 
and  he  seemed  so  much  annoyed  that  the 
lady  did  not  like  to  say  any  more. 

Such  a  time  as  they  had  going  to  the 
farm !  On  every  hill  the  engine  coughed 
and  sputtered  and  said,  — 

"'Fraid  I  can't,  'Fraid  I  can't," 

and  then   it  would  almost  stop  and  gasp 

out, — 

"I  can't  do  it." 

The  chauffeur  grew  crosser  and  crosser ; 
he  jammed  the  shift  into  low  speed,  and  he 

68 


THE   LITTLEST   ONES 

looked  as  if  he  would  like  to  break  it,  and 
then  he  said,  — "  The  'ole  car  needs  hover- 
'aulin',  Madam." 

(The  lady  thought  he  said  "  old  "  car,  but 
it  was  just  his  way  of  saying  "  whole.") 

Then  they  would  crawl,  and  jolt,  and  jerk 
over  the  top  of  the  hill,  and  the  engine 
would  grumble  and  complain  all  along  the 
smooth  road,  — 

"Clankety,  clankety,  clankety." 

It  grew  worse  on  every  hill  all  along  the 
way,  until  at  last  it  seemed  as  if  they 
could  not  even  crawl  up  the  little  incline  of 
the  farm  driveway.  The  engine  choked,  and 
sputtered,  and  gasped,  and  finally  stopped 
dead  just  at  the  barn  door. 

"  Shall  I  take  the  car  to  the  garage  in  the 
village,  Madam,  and  'ave  the  hengine  taken 
down  ?  "  said  the  chauffeur.  "  You  '11  not  be 
able  to  get  'ome  in  'er." 

The  lady  thought  a  moment,  and  then 
she  said,  — 

69 


J 


STORIES   TO   TELL 

"  No,  Hutchins,  you  need  not  take  the 
car  just  now.  I  want  to  think  it  over  a  little. 
I  am  going  to  let  you  go  back  to  the  city  by 
train.  Leave  the  car  here,  and  if  I  need  you, 
I  will  telephone  for  you." 

11  Very  well,  Madam,"  said  the  chauffeur, 
and  he  went  off  to  the  train. 

Then  the  lady  called  John,  the  man  about 
the  farm,  and  she  said,  "John,  I  would  like 
to  look  at  that  oil  tank ;  the  engine  sounds 
dry  to  me." 

"  Yes'm,"  said  John,  and  he  opened  the 
hood,  and  unscrewed  the  cap,  and  peered  in. 
"  I  cannot  see  very  well,"  he  said ;  "it  does 
not  seem  to  be  very  high." 

"Take  the  gallon  can  of  Mobiloil  and 
put  some  in,  please,"  said  Mrs.  Brown;  so 
John  got  the  gallon  can  and  poured  oil  into 
the  oil  tank.  He  poured,  and  he  poured,  and 
he  poured  every  drop  of  that  gallon  into  the 
tank! 

"Why,  John,"  said  the  lady,  "a  galloi. 
is  all  it  holds  when  it  is  perfectly  empty 

70 


THE   LITTLEST   ONES 

It  must  have  been  absolutely  dry !  No 
wonder  the  poor  engine  said  'Clankety, 
clankety.'  Maybe  there  is  not  so  very  much 
the  matter  with  the  engine  after  all.  Sup- 
pose you  take  your  oiler  and  oil  all  the 
places  that  might  need  it." 

So  John  took  his  oiler  and  oiled  every 
single  place  that  had  a  place  for  oil. 

"  Now  fill  the  radiator,  please,  for  it  has 
been  smoking  all  the  way." 

So  John  put  fresh  water  in  the  radia- 
tor. 

11  Now,  John,"  said  the  lady,  "  you  start 
her,  and  I  will  take  the  wheel.  We  will 
drive  very  gently  out  of  the  yard  and  along 
the  road.  I  want  to  see  for  myself  what  is 
really  the  matter." 

So  John  started  the  engine.  It  did  not 
say,— 

"Spit,  bang,  pouf" 

this  time.  It  just  said,  rather  hoarsely,  — 

"Now!" 
7i 


STORIES   TO   TELL 

And  as  the  lady  drove  very  gently  down 
the  driveway,  it  began  to  grumble,  — 

"I  was  so  dry,  I  was  so  dry!" 

Then,  as  they  came  to  the  smooth  ground, 
it  said,  — 

"Feeling  better,  feeling  better, 
better  —  better  —  better  —  better  — 
better  —  better  —  better  —  better  — 
better." 

Pretty  soon  they  came  to  a  little  hill.  The 
children  listened  anxiously  to  hear,  "'Fraid 
I  can't,"  but  instead  it  said, — 

"Let  me  get  her,  let  me  get  her, 
let  me  get  her,  lemme  getter, 
lemme  getter,  lemme  getter," 

and  as  they  went  over  the  top  of  the  hill,  it 
said,  — 

"  I  got  it,  I  got  it, 
I  got  it,  I  got  it." 

Down  the  hill  they  went,  and  when  they 
reached  the  level  road,  the  car  began  to  sing; 
it  sang  the  pretty  song  it  always  sang  when 

72 


THE   LITTLEST   ONES 

father  drove,  —  the  song  of  the  Contented 
Automobile.    It  sang :  — 

1 '  Hum-hum-m-m-m-m ! ' ' 

The  lady  smiled  happily  and  the  children 
laughed  for  joy.  Their  beautiful  car  was  not 
in  "bad  shape,"  and  father  would  not  have 
to  be  disappointed  when  he  came  home. 

And  what  do  you  think  they  did  to  the 
foolish  chauffeur  who  drove  a  car  fifteen 
miles  without  any  lubricating  oil  in  its  tank  ? 
The  lady  said  she  thought  a  chauffeur  fool- 
ish enough  to  do  that  was  too  foolish  to 
have  a  car  to  drive,  so  she  wrote  Hutchins 
a  letter  and  told  him  he  could  not  be  their 
chauffeur  any  more,  and  that  she  would 
drive  the  car  home  herself. 

I  think  the  Automobile  was  glad. 


Was  ye  at  the  fair 


Was  ye  at  the  fair  ? 
Saw  ye  mony  people? 
Saw  ye  oor  guid  man, 
Ridin'  on  the  beetle  ? 1 
Wasna  he  a  fule, 
Didna  he  buy  a  saiddle? 
Wearin'  a'  his  old  breeks, 
Ridin'  on  a  beetle ! 

In  singing  or  saying  this  rhyme,  the  hands  are 
kept  on  the  hips,  and  all  motion  is  with  the  feet. 

1  A  "  beetle  "  is  a  rolling-pin. 
74 


LITTLE  BETTY  BAKER 

A  NONSENSE  STORY 


There  was  once  a  little  girl  named  Betty 
Baker.  She  was  very  fond  of  baking  things, 
and  when  her  mother  went  to  work,  she 
always  tried  to  surprise  her  with  something 
nice  for  supper.  One  day  in  every  week 
her  mother  left  her  to  get  the  supper.  When 
she  went  out  in  the  morning  she  used  to 
say  to  Betty,  — 

"  Now,  Betty  Baker,  there  's  cold  meat 
and  sauce  in  the  pantry ;  set  the  table  and 
have  the  kettle  boiling  for  my  tea  when  I 

75 


STORIES   TO   TELL 

come  home.  You  won't  have  to  cook  any- 
thing." 

But  Betty  Baker  always  cooked  some- 
thing. 

One  day  when  her  mother  went  away 
in  the  morning,  she  said,  "I  've  mixed  the 
bread  dough  ready  to  rise.  Keep  a  little 
fire,  and  set  the  dough  on  the  back  of  the 
stove  to  rise." 

"Yes,  Mother,"  said  Betty. 

As  soon  as  her  mother  had  gone,  Betty 
Baker  put  on  coal  and  opened  all  the  drafts, 
and  made  a  hot,  hot  fire,  and  put  the  dough 
on  the  front  of  the  stove,  to  rise. 

It  rose,  and  it  rose,  and  it  rose,  and  it 
bubbled,  and  it  ran  over,  all  down  the 
sides  of  the  bowl,  all  over  the  top  of  the 
hot  stove,  and  then  it  began  to  burn !  Af- 
ter a  while  the  bowl  broke,  and  all  the 
dough  ran  over  the  stove,  and  burned  to  a 
crisp. 

When  Betty  Baker's  mother  came  into 
the  house,  she  began  to  sniff.  "  My  patience, 

76 


THE   LITTLEST   ONES 

Betty  Baker,"  she  said,  "What  have  you 
got  on  the  stove?"* 

"  I  'm  raising  the  bread,  Mother,"  said 
Betty  Baker." 

"  You  are  raising  a  smell !  "  said  Mother 
Baker,  and  when  she  saw  the  dough  on  the 
top  of  the  stove,  she  said,  "  Dear,  dear, 
Betty,  that 's  no  way  to  raise  bread !  You 
have  to  raise  bread  cool  and  slow.  Do  you 
hear  me*?  —  cool  and  slow!  " 

"Yes,  Mother,    said  Betty  Baker. 

Next  week  when  Mother  Baker  went  to 
work,  she  said,  "  Now,  Betty,  I  have  mixed 
dough,  and  it 's  risen  most  enough  to  bake ; 
when  I  come  home  I  '11  bake  it." 

As  soon  as  she  had  gone,  little  Betty 
Baker  said  to  herself,  "  I  '11  bake  the  bread." 
So  she  put  the  dough  in  the  pan,  and  put 
the  pan  in  the  oven,  and  shut  down  all  the 
drafts,  and  opened  the  oven  door  a  little  way, 
to  make  the  fire  cool  and  slow.  She  baked 
it  cool  and  slow,  and  she  baked  it  cool  and 
slow,  all  day  long. 

77 


STORIES   TO   TELL 

When  her  mother  came  home,  Betty  took 
Jie  bread  out  of  the  pan  and  put  it  on  the 
table.  Her  mother  looked  at  it,  and  then  she 
poked  it  with  a  fork,  and  she  said,  "  What 
in  all  the  world  is  this,  Betty?" 

"  A  loaf  of  bread,  Mother,"  said  Betty. 

1 '  A  loaf  of  bread  ? ' '  said  her  mother.  "It's 
just  nothing  but  dough,  Betty  Baker,  and 
soured  dough,  too !  Don't  you  know  that 
is  n't  the  way  to  bake  bread  ?  Bread  has  to  be 
brown  and  crusty  ;  you  hear  me,  Betty  ?  — 
brown  and  crusty!" 

"Yes,  Mother,"  said  Betty. 

Next  week  when  her  mother  went  out, 
Betty  Baker  thought  she  would  make  a  cus- 
tard to  surprise  her.  So  she  beat  the  eggs 
and  the  milk  and  sugar,  and  put  the  mixture 
in  little  custard  cups,  and  set  them  in  the 
oven  to  bake.  And  she  made  a  nice  fire, 
and  every  once  in  a  while  she  looked  at  the 
custards  to  see  if  they  were  brown  and 
crusty.  They  got  brown  pretty  quick,  but 
they  did  not  seem  to  get  very  crusty.   So 

78 


THE   LITTLEST   ONES 

she  baked  them,  and  she  baked  them,  and 
she  baked  them.  And  by  and  by  Mother 
Baker  came  home. 

Betty  Baker  took  the  custards  out  of  the 
oven  and  put  them  on  the  table.  [They 
were  just  little  brown  lumps  in  the  bottom 
of  the  cups.  Mother  Baker  smelled  of  them, 
and  she  felt  them  with  a  spoon,  and  then 
she  said,  "Will  you  please  tell  me,  Betty 
Baker,  what  it  is  you  have  made  this 
time?" 

"  Custards,  Mother,"  said  Betty  Baker. 

:<  Custards  !  "  said  her  mother,  "  Do  you 
call  that  custard  ?  That  is  n't  custard ;  that 
is  just  a  mess  !  Custard  should  be  soft  and 
yellow,  and  shake  when  you  move  it ! " 

"Oh,"  said  Betty  Baker. 

Next  week  when  the  mother  went  to 
work,  Betty  Baker  looked  in  the  cook-book, 
and  decided  she  would  make  Boston  Fa- 
vorite Cake,  to  surprise  her  mother.  So  she 
mixed  the  flour  and  the  sugar  and  the  eggs 
and  the  milk,  and  put  it  in  a  pan  and  set  it  in 

79 


STORIES   TO   TELL 

the  oven.  It  was  nice  and  soft  and  yellow, 
and  she  moved  it  very  often  to  be  sure  it 
shook.  And  she  kept  the  door  open  so  it 
should  n't  get  brown. 

When  her  mother  came  home,  Betty  put 
the  Boston  Favorite  Cake  on  the  table. 
Mother  Baker  looked  at  it,  but  she  did  not 
poke  it  with  a  spoon  ;  she  just  said,  "  Is  this 
custard  again,  Betty?" 

"  No,  Mother,"  said  Betty  Baker,  "  It'  s 
cake." 

"  Cake !  "  said  her  mother.  "  My  patience 
to  goodness,  have  n't  you  any  judgment  at 
all,  Betty?  Don't  you  know  that  cake  has  to 
be  firm  ?  It  has  to  be  firm,  but  not  too  firm, 
and  soft,  but  not  too  soft.  This  is  n't  cake 
at  all !  " 

"  But  how  can  I  tell  when  it  is  firm  but 
not  too  firm,  and  soft  but  not  too  soft?"  said 
Betty. 

"Try  it  with  a  straw,"  said  Mother  Baker. 
"  If  it  sticks  to  the  straw,  it  isn't  done;  if 
the  straw  comes  out  clean,  it  is  done." 

80 


THE   LITTLEST   ONES 

"Oh,"  said  Betty. 

Next  week  when  her  mother  went  to 
work,  Betty  thought  she  would  make  mo- 
lasses candy,  to  surprise  her.  So  she  put  the 
molasses  and  the  butter  and  the  sugar  in  a 
pan,  and  put  it  on  the  stove  to  boil.  And  she 
boiled  it,  and  she  boiled  it,  and  she  boiled  it, 
and  every  once  in  a  while  she  tried  it  with 
a  straw  to  see  if  it  was  done.  But  it  always 
stuck  to  the  straw.  So  she  kept  on  boiling 
it  until  her  mother  came  home. 

When  her  mother  came  in  the  door,  there 
was  a  terrible  black  smudge  of  smoke  in 
the  house.  "  My  patience,  Betty,"  said  her 
mother,  "  What  have  you  got  on  that 
stove?" 

11  Molasses  candy,  Mother,"  said  Betty. 

Her  mother  ran  to  the  kitchen  and  took 
off  the  candy  kettle,  which  was  burned  to  a 
cinder,  and  then  she  said,  "  Betty  Baker,  you 
just  have  n't  got  any  judgment  at  all,  and 
the  next  time  I  go  to  work,  you  keep  away 
from  the  stove.  Don't  you  go  near  it !  " 

81 


STORIES   TO   TELL 

11  All  right,  Mother,"  said  Betty  Baker. 

The  next  week  when  Mother  Baker  went 
to  work,  she  left  beans  and  brown  bread 
in  the  oven  to  bake,  and  a  nice  hot  fire  to 
bake  them  with. 

Pretty  soon  the  baker's  boy  came  in  at 
the  kitchen  door,  and  left  the  door  open. 
In  came  a  little  gust  of  wind,  and  blew  a 
piece  of  brown  paper  on  top  of  the  hot 
stove.  The  brown  paper  curled  up  a  little, 
smoked  a  little,  and  began  to  burn.  The 
wind  blew  harder,  and  the  paper  burned 
brighter. 

But  Betty  Baker  did  n't  go  near  the  stove. 

Pretty  soon  the  brown  paper  burned  so 
high  that  it  set  fire  to  the  dish-wiper  hang- 
ing behind  the  stove.  The  dish-wiper  burned 
up  with  quite  a  flame. 

But  Betty  Baker  did  n't  go  near  the  stove. 

By  and  by  the  dish-wiper  set  fire  to  the 
paper  trimming  on  the  edge  of  the  shelf,  and 
it  burned,  and  it  burned,  and  it  set  fire  to 
the  shelf. 

82 


THE   LITTLEST    ONES 

But  Betty  Baker  did  n't  go  near  the  stove. 

When  Mother  Baker  came  home,  she 
smelled  smoke  as  soon  as  she  got  inside 
the  door.  She  ran  to  the  kitchen,  and  there 
was  all  one  side  of  the  kitchen  on  fire  !  "  My 
goodness,  Betty,"  she  said,  "  what  have 
you  been  doing?" 

"  I  did  n't  touch  the  stove,  Mother,"  said 
Betty  Baker. 

Betty  Baker's  mother  ran  for  the  neigh- 
bors, and  everybody  poured  on  water,  and 
by  and  by  they  put  the  fire  out. 

After  it  was  all  out,  Mother  Baker  said 
to  Betty,  "  Betty  Baker,  it  looks  as  if  you 
just  never  will  have  any  judgment.  Every- 
thing I  tell  you  to  do,  you  do  when  you 
ought  not  to,  and  everything  I  tell  you  not 
to  do,  you  don't  do  when  you  ought  to  I 
And  I  guess  until  you  learn  judgment  I 
will  have  to  take  you  with  me  when  I  go  to 
work." 

So  that  was  the  end  of  Betty  Baker's 
baking.  —  But  the  children  made  a  foolish 

83 


STORIES   TO   TELL 

rhyme   about  her,  and  they  used  to  tease 
her  by  singing :  — 

"Little  Betty  Baker, 
Her  mother  was  a  shaker, 
But  the  more  she  shook  her, 
The  more  her  wits  forsook  her!" 

Which  was  all  nonsense,  you  know,  for 
Betty  Baker's  mother  did  n't  shake  her  at 
all. 


We'll  All  Awa'  f o  Jessie's  Hoose 


We  'll  all  awa'  to  Jessie's  hoose, 
To  Jessie's  hoose,  to  Jessie's  hoose, 
We'll  all  awa'  to  Jessie's  hoose, 
To  get  a  cup  o'  tea ! 

Your  plack  and  my  plack, 
Your  plack  and  my  plack, 
Your  plack  and  my  plack, 
And  Jessie's  bawbee ! 

We'll  all  awa'  to  Johnnie's  hoose, 
To  Johnnie's  hoose,  to  Johnnie's  hoose, 
We  '11  all  awa'  to  Johnnie's  hoose, 
To  get  a  cup  o'  tea ! 

85 


STORIES   TO   TELL 

Your  plack  and  my  plack, 
Your  plack  and  my  plack, 
Your  plack  and  my  plack, 
And  Johnnie's  bawbee! 

Make  as  many  verses  as  there  are  children, 
naming  each  in  turn.  The  real  old  Scotch  way  is 
to  move  the  feet  and  hands  in  time,  taking  any 
little  dancing  or  balancing  step  that  fits  the 
rhythm,  and  either  clapping  the  hands  lightly  or 
making  appropriate  gestures. 


In  the  night  before  Easter,  the  little 
Easter  Rabbit  comes  out  of  the  woods  with 
a  great  basket  on  his  back  and  another 
over  his  arm,  filled  with  Easter  eggs. 

Stepping  softly  on  his  velvety  feet,  he 
comes  into  the  town  and  into  the  house.  All 
the  little  children  are  asleep.  Softly,  softly, 
into  the  playroom  he  goes,  and  there  he 

87 


STORIES   TO   TELL 

hides  some  of  the  eggs.  Then  he  slips  into 
the  front  rooms  and  there  he  hides  more, 
everywhere  where  you  would  n't  think  of 
looking; —  under  the  sofa  cushions,  in  the 
flower  pots,  in  grandma's  work-basket. 

But  if  there  is  a  garden  by  the  house,  he 
passes  straight  through,  out  of  the  back 
door,  down  the  steps,  softly,  so  softly,  into 
the  garden.  And  there  he  hides  the  most. 
Under  the  old  stone  wall,  in  the  crotch  of 
the  lilac  tree,  in  a  bird's  nest  in  the  hedge, 
—  every  little  tuck-a-way  corner  the  cun- 
ning Easter  Rabbit  finds  and  hides  an  egg 
in. 

Some  are  little  white  and  pink  and  green 
eggs,  made  of  sugar  candy ;  some  are  great 
chocolate  eggs,  with  fancy  trimmings  ;  some 
are  made  of  maple  sugar,  oh,  so  good ! 

Last  of  all,  he  hides  a  basket  of  fresh 
eggs,  ready  to  cook  for  breakfast.  Each  one 
is  colored  with  pretty  colors,  or  has  a  little 
picture  on  it,  or  else  a  child's  name.  One 
has  "E"  on  it  for  "Elizabeth,"  and  one 

88 


THE   LITTLEST   ONES 

has  "J  "  on  it  for  "James."  (Change  these 
initials  to  suit  your  little  audience.) 

When  the  Easter  Rabbit  has  hidden  all 
the  eggs  for  the  children  in  that  house,  he 
cocks  up  his  long  ears,  waves  his  little  tail, 
and  is  off,  still  as  the  night. 

In  the  morning  the  children  come  shin- 
ing from  their  rooms,  to  say  "  Happy 
Easter!"  to  father  and  mother.  "Happy 
Easter!"  "Happy  Easter!"  you  hear  all 
over  the  house.  Out  into  the  garden  they 
run  and  the  great  Easter  Egg  Hunt  be- 
gins. 

Such  shouts,  when  a  child  finds  an  egg\ 
Sometimes  two  or  three  are  hidden  to- 
gether. Sometimes  great  excitement  is 
heard,  and  then  you  know  that  Jackie 
found  a  chocolate  egg.  But  the  greatest 
fun  of  all  is  hunting  for  the  basket  of 
fresh  eggs,  for  cook  will  not  begin  to  get 
breakfast  until  that  basket  is  brought  to 
her.  The  child  who  finds  it  has  as  a  prize 
the  right  to  choose  the  prettiest  egg  for  his 

89 


STORIES   TO   TELL 

own,  and  he  carries  the  basket  carefully 
into  the  kitchen,  followed  by  all  the  others. 

Then  comes  the  happy  breakfast  with 
everybody's  boiled  egg  coming  out  differ- 
ent from  everybody  else's  and  prettier ! 
Some  are  rose-colored,  and  one  has  a 
wreath  of  blue  forget-me-nots  on  it,  and  one 
has  a  little  picture  of  birds  in  a  nest.  Mary's 
has  "  Mary  "  written  in  red  and  blue  with 
a  rose  beside  the  "  M."  Mother's  has  a  lit- 
tle dove  of  grey  and  white  and  Daddy's 
has  a  yellow  chicken,  looking  most  sur- 
prised. 

After  breakfast  everyone  puts  his  treas- 
ures in  a  pretty  basket  and  saves  them  to 
show  visitors  and  to  share  with  friends. 

After  church,  the  door-bell  begins  ring- 
ing, and  always  it  is  an  Easter  gift  for 
some  one  in  the  family,  or  a  caller  to  wish 
them  a  happy  Easter.  It  is  a  lovely,  sweet- 
hearted,  thankful  day,  full  of  picnics  and 
visits,  and  excursions  for  flowers.  And 
when  the  children  go  to  bed  at  night,  they 

90 


THE   LITTLEST   ONES 

say,  "  Good  night,  dear  little  Easter  Rabbit. 
Thank  you.   Please  come  again  next  year!  " 

Way  off  in  the  woods  the  little  Easter 
Rabbit  hears  the  leaves  rustle  on  the  trees, 
and  he  listens  with  his  long  sharp  ears,  and 
the  leaves  whisper  softly:  "The  children 
are  saying  '  Good  night,  dear  little  Easter 
Rabbit!  Thank  you.' " 

Then  the  little  Easter  Rabbit  laughs  to 
himself  for  joy,  and  the  little  leaves  laugh 
too.  And  Happy  Easter  is  over. 


The  wandering  ckild 


Adapted  and  simplified  for  little  children,  from  the 
parable  of  "  The  Wandering  Child  "  by  Harriet  Marti- 
neau,  originally  published  in  the  "  Monthly  Repository," 
a  magazine  of  the  last  century  in  England. 


Once  a  child  was  all  by  himself  in  a 
still  place  among  the  groves.  He  thought 
he  was  alone,  for  he  did  not  see  his  Father's 
eyes  watching  over  him  from  the  thicket. 
But  the  Father  was  there. 

The  child  was  very  happy.  He  ran  and 
played  in  the  long  grass,  picked  the  flowers, 

94 


THE   LITTLEST   ONES 

wandered  among  the  great  trees,  and  sang 
till  the  woods  rang  with  his  voice. 

Because  everything  was  new  to  him  he 
was  afraid  of  nothing.  When  he  lay  among 
the  flowers,  a  dangerous  serpent  rose  from 
the  midst  of  them.  The  child  saw  how 
bright  its  coat  was,  like  a  rainbow,  and  he 
stretched  out  his  hand  to  take  it.  Then  the 
Father  called  from  the  thicket,  "  Beware  !  " 
And  the  child  sprang  up,  and  the  serpent 
crept  away. 

But  the  child  forgot  the  voice,  for  he 
saw  nothing. 

Soon,  a  lovely  butterfly  broke  from  its 
chrysalis  and  fluttered  away  on  the  wind. 
The  child  ran  after  it,  till  the  butterfly  rose 
and  was  lost  to  his  sight.  Then  the  Father 
put  forth  his  hand  and  pointed  to  the  clouds 
of  the  sky,  where  the  butterfly's  flight 
ended. 

But  the  child  did  not  notice  the  hand. 

There  was  a  clear  spring  in  the  midst 
of  the  trees,  and  its  waters  flowed  into  a 

95 


STORIES   TO   TELL 

pool,  quiet  and  deep.  The  child  knelt  at 
the  edge  and  saw  his  own  smiling  face  re- 
flected in  the  water.  It  pleased  him,  and  he 
bent  nearer. 

"  Beware ! "  the  voice  said  again. 

The  child  looked  about  him,  but  as  a 
breeze  was  rippling  the  pool,  he  thought  it 
had  been  only  the  voice  of  the  wind,  so  he 
played  on,  and  when  the  sun  danced  on 
the  ruffled  water,  he  laughed  and  put  one 
foot  into  the  waves,  to  feel  their  coolness. 

"Beware!"  said  the  voice  once  more, 
and  this  time  it  was  louder. 

But  the  child  was  full  of  play,  and  he 
did  not  listen. 

At  last  he  saw  something  glittering  at 
the  bottom  of  the  pool.  He  wanted  it  so 
much  that  he  reached  for  it,  leaned  for  it, 
and  then  plunged  after  it.  Alas,  the  pool 
was  deep !  He  sank,  and  as  he  sank,  he 
called  aloud  for  help,  help ! 

Instantly  the  Father  was  there,  and  his 
strong  hand  drew  the  child  to  safety  before 

96 


THE   CHILI)    RAN    AFTER    IT 


/ 


THE   LITTLEST   ONES 

the  waters  closed  over  his  head.  And  while 
the  child  shook  with  fear  and  cold,  the 
Father  comforted  him,  and  said,  — 

"  I  was  watching  over  you,  but  you  did 
not  know ;  I  gave  you  a  sign,  and  you  did 
not  see;  I  spoke,  and  you  did  not  listen; 
if  you  had  been  thinking  of  me,  you  would 
have  known  I  was  near." 

And  then  the  child  threw  himself  in  the 
Father's  arms,  and  said,  —  "  Father  stay 
near  me  forever !  And  my  eyes  shall  be  al- 
ways watching  for  your  sign,  and  my  ears 
waiting  to  hear  your  voice  !  " 


/Homing  Prayer of Thanks 


For  food  and  clothes  and  sleeping  beds 
We  bow  our  grateful  little  heads : 

98 


/ 


THE   LITTLEST   ONES 

For  love,  and  lessons,  and  for  play, 
We  fold  our  hands  our  thanks  to  say ; 
For  sun  and  wind  and  sea  and  sky 
We  sing  thy  praise,  dear  God  on  high. 

Give  us,  we  pray,  thy  spirit  too, 
Living  in  all  we  say  or  do, 
So  that  our  works  like  thine  may  be 
Beautiful  eternally. 


The  Resurrection  Plant 


Long,  long  ago,  when  Jesus  was  a  little 
baby,  there  was  a  cruel  king  in  his  country, 
named  Herod,  Herod  had  heard  that  one 
of  the  Prophets  had  said  a  new  king  was  to 
be  born  that  year,  and  he  was  afraid  of  los- 
ing his  throne.  So  he  did  a  terribly  wicked 
thing.  He  sent  soldiers  throughout  the 
country  of  Judea,  to  seize  and  kill  every 
Jewish  boy  baby  born  that  year. 

Jesus'  mother,  Mary,  and  Joseph,  her 
husband,  were  warned  of  the  horrible  thing 
that  was  to  happen.  And  in  the  dark  night 
they  wrapped  the  baby  up  and  fled  away 
out  of  Judea.  Far,  far  away  they  traveled, 
into  Egypt;  Mary  rode  on  a  donkey  with 

ioo 


/ 


THE   LITTLEST   ONES 

Jesus  in  her  arms,  and  Joseph  walked  be- 
side them.  They  were  weary,  and  afraid, 
and  often  they  were  hungry  and  thirsty. 
But  they  were  so  thankful  to  have  got 
out  of  Judea  without  being  caught  by  the 
soldiers  that  they  did  not  mind  the  heat  or 
the  hard  roads  or  the  leaving  behind  all 
their  possessions. 

Day  after  day  they  rode  slowly  along, 
for  Mary  was  weak,  and  it  was  hard  trav- 
eling for  her.  But  always  she  smiled  at  the 
baby  in  her  arms,  and  spoke  gently  to 
Joseph,  so  that  the  way  seemed  easier  to 
him.  Sometimes  they  met  other  poor  peo- 
ple journeying,  and  sometimes  they  were 
passed  on  the  road  by  rich  travelers  with 
great  trains  of  camels  and  drivers.  Mary's 
beautiful  smile  and  kind  mother  eyes  pleased 
every  one,  and  many  times  people  gave  her 
little  gifts  of  corn  or  milk,  or  dates.  And 
Mary  was  gentle  to  all  creatures. 

One  day  they  were  alone  in  the  great 
desert.  The  sun  scorched  hot,  and  dry  on 

IOI 


STORIES   TO   TELL 

the  glittering  sand,  and  Mary  was  faint 
with  thirst.  But  she  could  not  drink  much 
for  there  was  but  little  water  left  in  their 
jars,  and  she  must  save  it  for  the  baby. 
So  she  took  but  little  in  her  cup. 

Wearily  she  sat,  her  head  bowed.  As 
she  looked  down,  she  noticed  a  small  plant 
growing  on  the  hot  ground.  So  dry  it  was 
that  its  fern-like  leaves  were  curled  to  a 
tight  hard  bunch,  brown  and  dry.  It  seemed 
quite  dead. 

"Poor  little  plant,"  said  Mary.  "You, 
too,  thirst  in  a  weary  land.  Would  I  could 
give  you  water  for  your  need."  And  as 
she  spoke  she  touched  its  leaves  gently. 

Oh,  what  was  happening  to  the  little 
plant?  Slowly,  surely,  its  dry  curled  leaves 
began  to  unfold !  Slowly,  surely,  they  turned 
from  dead  brown  to  living  green !  The  lit- 
tle plant  was  coming  alive.  Holiness  and 
kindness  had  touched  it,  and  it  could  never 
die  again,  for  holiness  and  kindness  live 
forever. 

102 


/ 


OH,  WHAT  WAS  HAPPENING  TO  THE  LITTLE  PLANT? 


THE   LITTLEST   ONES 

And  from  that  day  to  this,  the  strange 
little  plant  never  dies ;  its  leaves  curl  up 
brown  and  dry,  and  it  becomes  just  a  bunch 
of  prickly  moss,  and  so  it  stays  for  months 
and  years.  Travelers  to  that  far  eastern 
country  often  bring  these  little  bunches 
home  in  their  trunks.  But  just  put  the  lit- 
tle dry  bunch  in  a  bowl  of  water,  and  see 
what  happens !  Way  down  at  its  heart  the 
living  memory  of  the  water  of  kindness  is 
stirred,  and  the  little  plant  begins  to  wake. 
Slowly  its  leaves  uncurl,  and  spread,  and 
turn  green,  and  at  last  it  is  a  beautiful  fern, 
living  and  growing  in  the  water. 

So  people  call  it  the  resurrection  plant,  or 
the  "semper  viva,"  which  is  Latin  for  "ever 
living." 

This  is  only  a  legend,  you  know,  but  one 
part  of  it  is  surely  true,  and  that  is  thai 
goodness  and  mercy  are  everlasting:  they 
cannot  die.  And  the  little  resurrection  plant 
reminds  us  of  that. 


THE  WASSAIL  SONG 

Old  Christmas  Carol 


Here  we  come  a-wassailing, 
Among  the  leaves  so  green, 

Here  we  come  a-wandering, 
So  fair  to  be  seen. 

Chorus 
Love  and  joy  come  to  you, 

And  to  you  your  wassail  too, 
And  God  bless  you,  and  send  you 

A  happy  new  year, 
And  God  send  you  a  happy  new  year. 

104 


THE   LITTLEST   ONES 

We  are  not  daily  beggars 
That  beg  from  door  to  door, 

But  we  are  neighbors'  children 
Whom  you  have  seen  before. 

Chorus. 

Good  Master  and  good  Mistress, 

As  you  sit  by  the  fire, 
Pray  think  of  us  poor  children 

Who  are  wandering  in  the  mire. 

Chorus. 

We  have  a  little  purse 

Made  of  ratching  leather  skin ; 
We  want  some  of  your  small  change 

To  line  it  well  within. 

Chorus. 

Bring  us  out  a  table, 

And  spread  it  with  a  cloth; 
Bring  us  out  a  mouldy  cheese, 
And  some  of  your  Christmas  loaf. 

Chorus. 
105 


STORIES   TO   TELL 

God  bless  the  master  of  this  house, 
Likewise  the  mistress  too; 

And  all  the  little  children 
That  round  the  table  go. 

Chorus. 


The  Christmaslree  that  lived 


When  Betty  Darling  was  one  year  old 
her  father  bought  a  farm.  So  it  happened 
that  Betty  spent  her  second  Christmas  in 
the  country. 

On  Christmas  morning  as  soon  as  Betty 
had  eaten  her  orange  juice  and  cereal,  Nurse 
dressed  her  in  whitest  white,  and  tied  her 
yellow  curls  in  a  big  bow  that  looked  like 
a  butterfly  perching  on  her  head;  then  she 
took  her  to  the  head  of  the  stairs  and  blew 

107 


STORIES   TO   TELL 

a  little  silver  whistle  that  Father  Darling 
had  given  her  the  evening  before. 

Instantly  came  a  gay  chord  from  the  piano 
downstairs  ;  the  living-room  door  flew  open 
and  Daddy  Darling  came  leaping  up  the 
stairs.  "Merry  Christmas,  father's  sweet- 
heart," he  said  to  Betty,  and  taking  her  on 
his  shoulder  he  marched  downstairs,  step- 
ping in  time  to  the  lovely  Christmas  music 
Mother  was  playing. 

In  at  the  open  door  they  went,  Nursie  fol- 
lowing, in  step.  And  then  everybody  was 
calling,  "  Merry  Christmas,  dearest ;  merry 
Christmas,  honey-heart."  But  Mother  said, 
"Merry  Christmas,  Beloved,"  because  that 
was  her  name  for  Betty.  And  Betty  said, 
"  Merry  Crippy  "  to  them  all  in  her  sweet  lit- 
tle voice.  There  was  Grandma  and  Grandpa 
and  Uncle  Ran  and  Mary,  the  cook,  and 
Janie  who  waited  on  table,  besides  Mother 
and  Father  and  Nursie.  And  there  was  a 
big,  shining  glorious  Christmas  tree  beside 
the  piano. 

108 


THE   LITTLEST   ONES 

It  had  chains  and  balls  and  stars  and 
candles  on  it,  a  big  paper  Santa  Claus  at  the 
top,  and  dozens  of  gifts  for  every  one.  It 
was  lovely.  Betty  looked  at  it  and  laughed 
for  joy.  But  when  she  had  looked  a  while 
Mother  said  softly,  "  Look  over  there,  Be- 
loved," and  turned  her  round  to  face  the 
windows. 

There,  on  a  low  table  between  the  sunny 
windows,  with  firelight  and  sunlight  and 
frostlight  all  shining  on  it,  stood  Betty's 
very  own  Christmas  tree ;  just  her  ownty- 
donty-nobody-else's  Christmas  tree.  It  was 
only  two  feet  tall  and  it  had  a  top  like  a 
pointing  finger,  with  little  branches  coming 
out  from  the  stem  most  beautifully  even  and 
pointed,  so  brave  and  green !  On  its  top  a 
lovely  birdie  with  a  glittering  tail  swayed 
lightly ;  from  the  tiny  twigs  hung  wee  frosty 
lanterns  of  spun  glass,  rose  and  blue  and 
scarlet  balls  with  the  light  shining  through, 
a  Santa  Claus  no  bigger  than  Betty's  hand, 
and  wonderful  ropes  of  gilt  and  silver  tinsel. 

109 


STORIES   TO   TELL 

It  was  so  little  that  Betty  could  reach  every 
single  thing.  She  could  see  it  from  top  to 
bottom  and  on  every  side.  She  loved  it  be- 
cause it  was  so  little,  and  because  it  was  all 
her  own.  She  sat  in  her  high-chair  holding 
a  new  dolly  in  her  arms,  and  looked  at  her 
tree  and  talked  to  it.  She  touched  the  trim- 
mings with  finger-tips  as  soft  as  a  birdie's 
wing,  but  she  never  pulled  or  broke  or  hurt 
anything  on  it. 

That  was  a  wonderful  Christmas  for  Betty. 
They  sang  songs,  and  told  stories  for  her; 
she  played  with  many  new  toys;  she  went 
riding  in  a  slippy-sleigh  behind  old  Molly 
with  Father  and  Mother;  and  when  the 
first  silver  star  shone  on  the  white  snow,  and 
the  red  firelight  made  the  little  tree  all  rosy, 
she  helped  give  gifts  from  the  bigger  tree  to 
all  the  little  boys  and  girls  whose  fathers 
worked  on  the  farm. 

But  of  all  the  wonderful  and  lovely  things 
Betty  loved  her  Christmas  tree  best.  And 
every  morning  until  New  Year's  Day,  as 

no 


THE   LITTLEST   ONES 

soon  as  she  was  brought  downstairs,  she  ran 
first  to  see  if  the  little  tree  was  still  there  be- 
tween the  windows.  "  Pretty  Crippy,  pretty 
Crippy,"  she  would  say,  touching  its  pointed 
branches  softly,  and  sometimes  she  would 
kiss  it. 

New  Year's  Day  was  very  warm  and  mild, 
and  soon  after  breakfast  Daddy  Darling  said 
to  Mother,  "I  think  we  can  plant  Betty's 
Christmas  tree  to-day.  Tell  Nurse  to  put  on 
her  leggings  and  fur  coat,  and  she  shall 
come  too."  So  down  Betty  was  brought,  all 
wrapped  up,  and  there  was  Daddy  Darling 
and  Mother  Darling  and  Ben,  who  looked 
after  everything,  all  standing  round  her  little 
Christmas  tree. 

"Sweetheart,"  said  Father,  "would  you 
like  to  have  your  Crippy  tree  all  planted  in 
the  ground,  so  that  it  will  never  dry  up,  and 
die,  but  will  keep  always  green  and  shiny 
for  you  ?  " 

Betty's  big,  black  eyes  looked  at  the 
Crippy  tree  and  looked  at  Dada,  and  be- 
in 


STORIES   TO   TELL 

:ause  all  the  things  that  Dada  did  were  al- 
ways nice,  she  nodded  her  head  for  "yes." 
Then  Ben  and  Father  took  the  little  tree 
and  the  big  tub  it  stood  in,  out  of  the  door 
and  along  the  snowy  path,  up  the  hill.  And 
Mother  and  Nursie  each  took  a  hand  of 
Betty  and  followed  after.  When  they  had 
gone  a  little  way  they  came  to  a  place  where 
the  snow  was  rounded  up  like  a  little  tent. 
Father  set  the  tub  on  the  ground,  and  Ben 
brushed  away  the  snow,  and  there  was  a 
heap  of  dry  leaves  and  pine  boughs.  These, 
too,  he  took  away,  and  underneath  was  a 
deep  hole,  plenty  big  enough  to  hold  tub 
and  tree,  too ;  and  the  ground  was  n't  frozen 
at  all  because  the  leaves  and  boughs  had 
been  over  it.  But  they  did  n't  put  the  tub 
in  the  hole ;  very  gently  and  carefully  with 
small  shovels  they  lifted  the  earth  and  the 
little  tree  out  of  the  tub,  and  set  it  all  just 
as  it  was,  in  the  hole.  Then  Ben  brought  a 
basket  of  soft  earth  from  the  barn,  and  filled 
in  all  the  chinks,  and  they  stamped  it  down 

112 


THE   LITTLEST   ONES 

until  the  little  Christmas  tree  looked  as  if  it 
had  always  stood  there.  Last  of  all  they  put 
the  leaves  and  pine  boughs  around  its  stem, 
to  protect  it. 

"Now  your  Crippy  tree  will  last  for  every 
Christmas  if  nothing  happens  to  it,"  said 
Father  Darling,  and  Betty  was  delighted. 

It  happened  that  Daddy  Darling's  work 
took  him  very  far  away,  afterwards,  and 
Betty  never  spent  another  Christmas  at  the 
farm  until  she  was  twelve  years  old.  That 
year  they  all  came  back  to  spend  the  holi- 
days at  the  dear  old  place. 

On  Christmas  morning  Betty's  father,  just 
for  fun  and  in  memory  of  that  other  Christ- 
mas, blew  a  little  silver  whistle,  and  big 
twelve-year  old  Betty  came  running  down 
the  stairs. 

The  living-room  had  a  beautiful  great 
tree  in  it,  and  lovely  gifts  for  everybody, 
but  there  was  no  dear  little  tiny  tree  on 
the  low  table  between  the  south  windows. 
Every  year  of  her  life  till  now  Betty  had  had 

113 


STORIES   TO   TELL 

her  own  little  tree,  each  year  a  bigger  one, 
and  now  she  was  rather  surprised  not  to 
find  one. 

But  Mother  Darling  said  very  quickly, 
"You  have  a  tree,  Beloved,  but  we  can't 
show  it  to  you  till  we  go  out  of  doors." 

"Out  of  doors?"  said  Betty.  Then  sud- 
denly she  thought  what  Mother  meant. 
"Why,  Mother,"  she  said,  "you  don't  mean 
that  my  first  little  '  Crippy  tree '  has  lived  all 
this  time?" 

"My  dearest,"  said  Father,  "your  first 
little  'Crippy  tree'  was  a  Douglas  Fir,  and 
unless  something  happens  to  it,  it  will  be 
alive  and  green  when  you  are  lots  older  than 
Mother  Darling  and  I  are  now." 

"Oh,  Daddy,  show  it  to  me!"  said  Betty 
eagerly. 

So  very  soon  they  were  all  wrapped  up 
again  and  once  more  they  went  following 
the  white  path  up  the  hillside. 

But  where  was  the  little  tree?  Why,  there 
it  was! —  Only,  it  wasn't  so  very  little. 

114 


THE   LITTLEST   ONES 

It  stood  far  higher  than  Father  Darling's 
head,  straight  and  green  and  shiny,  with 
its  branches  most  beautifully  even  and 
pointed  just  as  they  had  been  long  ago,  and 
its  top  like  a  pointing  finger  still.  It  was 
hung  all  over  with  the  tiniest  little  cones, 
all  purplish-brown  and  green,  frothing  with 
shining  gum.  Betty  took  one  look  at  it  and 
then  she  put  out  both  hands  and  touched 
its  little  cones  as  she  had  touched  its  trim- 
mings when  it  stood  in  the  house  that  first 
Christmas. 

"  Oh,  I  love  it ! "  she  said.  "  It 's  my  very 
own  Christmas  tree." 

And  then,  as  if  it  heard  and  was  grateful, 
the  tree  offered  her  a  Christmas  gift ;  a  little 
wind  came  to  sway  its  branches,  and  there 
in  the  very  heart  of  the  bough  nearest  her 
reach  lay  a  little  bird's  nest,  frosted  with 
snow,  and  shining  like  a  jewel.  Father  Dar- 
ling took  it  carefully  from  its  fastening  and 
Betty  Darling  carried  it  happily  back  to  the 
house.  And  for  years  it  stayed  in  the  old 

"5 


STORIES   TO   TELL 

living-room  to  welcome  her  whenever  she 
came. 

But  far  longer  and  holier  was  the  greet- 
ing of  the  Christmas  Tree  that  lived.  For 
it  grew  and  grew,  and  was  always  more 
beautiful,  and  it  kept  Betty's  first  Christmas 
at  the  farm  alive  in  its  fragrant  heart. 


PRETTY  COW 


Thank  you,  pretty  cow,  that  made 
Pleasant  milk  to  soak  my  bread, 

Every  day  and  every  night, 

Warm,  and  fresh,  and  sweet,  and  white. 

Do  not  chew  the  hemlock  rank, 

Growing  on  the  weedy  bank; 
But  the  yellow  cowslips  eat, 

That  will  make  it  very  sweet. 

Where  the  purple  violet  grows, 
Where  the  bubbling  water  flows, 

Where  the  grass  is  fresh  and  fine, 
Pretty  cow,  go  there  and  dine. 

Ann  Taylor 


"7 


THE  ADVENTURE  OP 
THE  LITTLE  WHITE  BOAT 


A  little  white  boat  lived  by  the  side  of 
a  pine  woods,  on  the  blue  bay.  All  summer 
it  was  tied  with  a  strong  rope  to  the  float, 
and  bobbed  up  and  down  on  the  gentle  tide. 

One  day,  Daddy  took  the  children  for  a 
row  in  it  and  they  landed  on  a  small  island 
off  shore.  While  the  children  looked  for 
shells,  Daddy  tied  the  little  boat  to  a  stone, 
and  it  enjoyed  itself  playing  with  the  curly 
waves. 

Pretty  soon,  with  a  swish  and  a  swash, 
along  came  a  big  motor  boat  named  "If." 

"Want  to  go  for  a  ride?"  called  its 
owner  to  Daddy. 

"Yes,  indeed,"  said  Daddy,  and  "Yes, 

118 


THE   LITTLEST   ONES 

indeed,"  said  the  children.  "Yes,  indeed," 
thought  the  little  white  boat,  too. 

So  they  tied  the  little  boat  behind  the  big 
boat,  and  off  they  flew,  with  a  swish  and  a 
swash. 

That  was  a  grand  ride  for  the  little  white 
boat!  Never  had  it  gone  so  fast  or  so  far. 
They  went  the  whole  length  of  the  bay,  to 
the  ocean's  mouth  and  back  again,  and  they 
passed  every  boat  on  the  way.  Oh,  it  was 
fine !  "  Hurrah  for  the  '  If ' !  "  said  the  chil- 
dren. "Good  for  the  'If,'"  said  Daddy. 
"How  grand  the  'If  is!"  thought  the  lit- 
tle rowboat 

By  and  by  they  came  home  to  the  float, 
and  the  little  white  boat  was  tied  up,  and 
the  "If"  sailed  away,  and  Daddy  and  the 
children  went  up  to  the  house. 

The  little  rowboat  was  all  alone.  It 
was  very  excited  and  happy,  and  full  of 
thoughts. 

"Oh,"  it  thought,  "if  I  could  only  have 
another  ride  like  that !  If  I  could  only  go  so 

119 


STORIES   TO   TELL 

fasti  If  I  had  an  engine  inside  of  me  !  If  I 
could  go  alone,  without  some  one  to  pull 
me !  If —  if — if —  "  The  little  rowboat  grew 
tired  and  dozed  off. 

It  woke  up  with  a  bounce  and  a  bob,  for 
the  wind  had  risen  and  so  had  the  waves. 
The  stars  were  shining,  and  the  beach  was 
making  a  whispering  sound. 

"  How  bright  the  sky  is,"  thought  the  lit- 
tle boat.  "I  wish  I  could  take  a  little  ride !  " 
"If — "  and  it  began  to  wonder  and  think 
of  all  the  big  "ifs,"  till  it  grew  very  restless 
and  eager.  It  pulled  and  tugged,  and  bobbed 
about,  jerking  at  its  rope,  and  shaking  its 
prow. 

All  of  a  sudden  the  rope  broke,  and  the 
little  white  boat  was  free !  It  began  to  move, 
faster  and  faster,  without  anyone  pulling  it, 
but  with  the  wind  and  tide  helping  it  along. 

"Now  I  shall  have  a  ride!  Now  I  shall 
go  by  myself!"  it  thought. 

It  was  so  happy,  so  happy,  out  in  the 
starlight  alone,  flying  along !  Past  the  pine 

120 


THE   LITTLEST   ONES 

woods,  past  the  yacht  club,  past  the  gaso- 
line float  it  went.  What  an  adventure  ! 

Pretty  soon  the  wind  blew  harder,  and 
puffed  some  clouds  over  the  sky. 

After  a  while  there  were  no  stars  left,  and 
the  bay  was  very  dark  indeed.  And  the  wind 
blew  harder  than  ever.  It  blew  so  hard  that 
the  waves  splashed  all  inside  of  the  little 
white  boat,  and  it  bounced  and  bobbed  so 
much  that  it  began  to  be  tired. 

"I  think  I'd  like  to  go  home  now,"  it 
thought. 

But  it  couldn't  turn  round.  The  wind 
would  n't  let  it.  On  and  on  it  went,  rolling 
and  bobbing,  in  the  dark.  It  grew  very 
lonely  and  very  sorry,  and  so  very  very 
tired !  But  it  had  to  go  on. 

After  a  long  long  time,  the  gray  dawn 
came  in  the  sky,  and  the  little  white  boat 
could  see  white  foam  of  waves  on  the  rocks, 
and  hear  the  noise  of  breakers.  That  fright- 
ened it  dreadfully.  All  boats  are  afraid  of 
breakers  and  surf;  they  love  the  clear  water. 

121 


STORIES   TO   TELL 

What  should  it  do  if  the  wind  drove  it  to 
those  rocks  ? 

It  put  out  all  its  strength  to  turn  round, 
to  swing  away  from  the  surf,  but  in  vain. 
Nearer  and  nearer  the  wind  and  tide  swept 
it  along.  Now  there  was  a  streak  of  red  in 
the  sky  where  the  great  sun  was  ready  to 
rise ;  the  world  grew  lighter,  and  the  little 
boat  could  see  the  dark  rock  looming  up 
most  plainly  ahead  of  it.  Oh,  dear,  oh,  dear, 
how  frightened  it  was! 

"If  I  were  safe  at  my  float  again,"  it 
thought,  "I  'd  not  take  another  ride  alone. 
I  wish  I  had  n't  come  !  " 

But  it  was  no  use.  In  another  few  min- 
utes the  big  waves  lifted  it  high  up  and  set 
it  on  a  side  of  the  rock,  just  as  if  a  giant  had 
taken  it  in  his  hands.  Then  the  wave  went 
back,  and  the  little  white  boat  slid  and 
scraped  and  fell  back  with  it.  It  hurt,  that 
horrid  scrape  along  the  pretty  paint. 

Another  wave  came,  and  carried  the  little 
boat  in  against  the  rocks  again.  This  time 

122 


THE   LITTLEST   ONES 

it  bumped  so  hard  that  the  little  boat  cried 
out,  in  pain.  It  cried  out  as  loud  as  it  could, 
and  gave  a  kind  of  groany,  squeaky  whim- 
per as  it  slid  back  into  the  water. 

Up  on  the  rocks,  behind  the  first  ledge,  a 
Fisherman  was  fixing  his  lobster  traps.  He 
had  got  up  very  early  to  go  after  lobsters, 
but  the  rough  sea  had  kept  him  from  going 
out.  He  heard  the  little  boat's  groany, 
squeaky  cry. 

"  I  wonder  what  that  is?"  he  thought. 
"  Sounds  like  a  dory  on  the  rocks." 

And  he  climbed  up  to  look.  He  saw  the 
poor  little  white  boat,  just  being  carried  in 
on  a  high  wave. 

"  Psho ! "  said  the  Fisherman.  "  That  little 
craft  '11  have  a  hole  in  her  if  she  hits  again ! " 

And,  quick  as  a  wink,  he  jumped  down 
to  the  ledge,  reached  out  just  in  time,  and 
caught  the  little  boat  by  the  side,  before  it 
crashed  into  the  rock.  Then  he  held  it 
steady  while  the  wave  sucked  out,  and  on 
the  next  one  he  pulled  it  high  and  dry. 

123 


STORIES   TO   TELL 

The  little  white  boat  was  saved,  and  I  can 
tell  you  it  was  glad  to  be  alive. 

But  later  in  the  morning,  when  the  Fish- 
erman had  got  it  down  to  his  float  and  tied 
it  up  there,  it  felt  pretty  homesick.  Where 
were  the  children  and  the  Daddy,  and  its 
own  dear  pine  grove  ? 

Just  at  that  minute  there  was  a  swish 
and  a  swash,  and  who  should  come  proudly 
over  the  choppy  sea  but  the  big  motor  boat, 
11  If"  ?  And  in  the  "  If"  were — there  was  the 
Daddy  of  the  children !  Not  the  children,  of 
course,  in  that  sea,  but  the  Daddy  and  the 
motor  boat's  owner.  Oh,  how  the  little  boat 
wished  it  had  a  voice  to  call  with  !  It  swung 
and  danced,  to  attract  their  attention.  But 
it  did  not  need  to  do  that.  The  "  If"  pointed 
her  nose  right  in  towards  the  float,  and  the 
Daddy  looked  down  and  said,  " That's  it! 
We  've  found  the  little  rascal." 

Then  he  saw  the  big  scratch  on  the  paint, 
and  he  said,  "  Lucky  it  was  n't  smashed ; 
you  see  it  has  been  on  the  rocks." 

124 


THE   LITTLEST   ONES 

The  little  white  boat  trembled  with  joy. 
While  the  two  men  talked  with  the  Fisher- 
man, and  paid  him  for  saving  the  boat,  it 
made  little  gurgling  noises  of  content  and 
gratitude,  to  the  big  "  If." 

And  then  Daddy  tied  the  little  white  boat 
to  the  stern  of  the  "  If,"  and  with  a  swish 
and  a  swash  they  rode  home  again.  Over 
the  waves,  past  the  village,  past  the  camps, 
past  the  yacht  club,  home  to  its  own  pine 
grove  and  its  own  dear  float.  And  there 
they  tied  it  with  a  new  rope  that  could  n't 
break. 

And  the  little  white  boat  said  to  itself,  "  I 
am  a  very  lucky  little  boat.  I  have  got  safe 
home  from  my  adventure,  and  I  '11  never 
go  riding  alone  again." 


THE  TREE 


I  am  God's  tree.  I  shade  you  from  the 
burning  sun  in  summer,  and  give  you  a  cool 
place  to  rest  or  play.  I  keep  off  the  bitter 
winds  in  winter.  In  the  driest  weather  I  keep 
the  moisture  in  the  soil;  and  in  the  wettest 
weather  my  roots  keep  the  earth  from  wash- 
ing away.  Without  me  the  ground  would 
be  baked  dry  and  soaked  wet. 

Do  not  cut  my  bark,  or  bind  my  trunk,  or 
break  my  branches.  If  I  am  attacked  by 
insects,  spray  me.  If  wind  or  storm  injure 
me,  have  me  mended.  Feed  me  with  good 
soil,  and  do  not  drain  the  water  away  from 
my  roots. 

126 


THE   LITTLEST   ONES 

In  gratitude,  I  will  give  you  beauty  to 
look  at,  purer  air  to  breathe,  and  comfort  and 
protection  both  winter  and  summer.  And 
the  birds  that  live  in  my  branches  will  sing 
to  you  Nature's  own  song  of  rejoicing. 


Qhe  £ittle  (Breamer 


A  little  boy  was  dreaming, 

Upon  his  nurse's  lap, 
That  the  pins  fell  out  of  all  the  stars, 

And  the  stars  fell  into  his  cap. 

128 


THE   LITTLEST   ONES 

So,  when  his  dream  was  over, 
What  should  that  little  boy  do  ? 

Why,  he  went  and  looked  inside  his  cap, 
And  found  it  was  n't  true. ■ 

*  From  Poetry  for  Children,  edited  by  Samuel  Eliot  (Houghton 
Mifflin  Company). 


i  He  Whimper-wninies 


One  day  Peter  Rabbit  woke  up  in  the 
morning  not  feeling  just  right.  He  was  n't 
very  pleasant  at  breakfast,  and  he  was 
n't  very  pleasant  at  play,  and  by  and  by 
while  he  was  running,  he  happened  to  fall 
down ;  instead  of  jumping  up  and  start- 
ing again,  he  began  to  scream.  Mother 
Rabbit  came  running  to  the  door,  thinking 
he  was  badly  hurt.  She  looked  him  all  over 
and  brushed  off  his  jacket,  and  then  she 
said,  — 

"  Peter,  you  should  n't  cry  like  that  for  a 
little  bump.   Dry  your  eyes  and  play  with 

130 


THE   LITTLEST   ONES 

Mary  and  Bunny.  You  have  given  mother 
a  fright  for  nothing." 

At  luncheon,  Peter  was  eating  his  bowl 
of  broth  and  bread  when  Mary  leaned  over 
to  show  him  what  a  nice  bite  of  crust  she 
had  taken ;  she  leaned  too  far,  and  upset  a 
little  of  Peter's  soup.  Instantly  Peter  began 
to  scream  again,  "  Mary 's  spilled  all  my 
soupl  Mary's  spilled  all  my  soup!  Oh, 
dear  1 "  You  would  have  thought  the  soup 
was  drowning  him,  or  that  he  never  ex- 
pected to  have  any  more.  Mother  Rabbit 
came  hurrying  in  from  the  kitchen,  where 
she  was  making  a  dessert,  and  looked  to  see 
what  the  trouble  was.  She  saw  a  spot  of 
soup  on  the  table,  and  that  was  all. 

"Peter,"  she  said,  "is  all  that  noise  be- 
cause Mary  spilled  a  littld  soup?  I  don't 
see  anything  to  cry  about." 

But  Peter  whined  and  cried,  and  did  n't 
get  really  pleasant  all  through  luncheon. 
He  quite  spoiled  the  nice  meal  for  the  other 
Rabbits. 

131 


STORIES   TO   TELL 

So  it  went  all  the  afternoon  ;  the  sun- 
shiny Peter  had  gone  far,  far  away.  And  the 
crying  and  whining  seemed  to  be  "catch- 
ing," like  measles;  before  night,  Mary  and 
Bunny  had  lost  their  sunny  faces,  too,  and 
Mother  Rabbit  felt  as  if  she  were  in  the 
midst  of  a  thunder  shower.  The  worst  came 
at  bed  time.  Instead  of  coming  happily  to 
get  into  his  comfortable  bath  and  his  restful 
bed,  Peter  began  to  whine  and  whimper,  — 

"  I  don't  want  to  go  to  bed,  I  want  to 
stay  up  a  little  while !  Please,  mother,  oh, 
mother!" 

Now  Mother  Rabbit  was  a  very  kind 
mother,  and  she  did  n't  like  a  bit  to  punish 
the  little  Rabbits,  but  she  knew  they  would 
grow  up  to  be  perfectly  horrid  if  she  let 
them  do  things  like  this ;  so  at  last  she 
said  in  a  very  stern  voice  to  Peter,  — 

"  Peter,  if  you  do  not  obey  me  at  once, 
and  without  crying,  you  shall  stay  at  home 
from  the  picnic  to-morrow." 

Peter  did  stop  then,  but  his  face  stayed  all 

132 


THE   LITTLEST   ONES 

whiny  and  puckery,  and  his  voice  still 
sounded  whimpery.  When  Mother  Rabbit 
tucked  him  into  his  bed,  she  said,  — 

11  Peter  dear,  if  you  keep  on  this  way  you 
will  be  only  fit  to  go  to  Whimper- Whiny 
land;  I  should  think  you'd  dream  of  the 
Whimper- Whinies  to-night." 

Well,  Peter  fell  fast  asleep,  and  he  had  a 
dream.  This  is  what  he  dreamed.  He  was 
walking  softly  down  a  long  green  path  in 
the  woods,  and  all  the  light  around  him 
was  greenish,  not  bright  and  goldy-flecked 
like  daytime.  Pretty  soon  he  came  to  a 
round  white  stone  beside  the  path.  He 
walked  past  it,  and  there  beside  the  big 
white  stone  stood  a  queer  little  creature. 
He  was  squatty  and  thin-legged,  some- 
thing like  a  frog,  and  he  had  the  worst 
looking  face !  It  was  all  puffed  up  and 
red,  and  his  mouth  was  drawn  down  at  the 
corners.  He  had  red  eyes,  and  a  round  red 
nose,  and  he  looked  as  if  he  had  cried  for- 
ever and  ever. 

133 


STORIES   TO  TELL 

While  Peter  was  looking  at  him  he  said, 
in  a  whiny,  squeaky,  teary  voice,  — 

"I  was  waiting  for  you,  Peter;  I  was 
sure  you  would  come  to  be  one  of  us." 

"Who  are  you?"  said  Peter. 

11  Oh,  I  'm  one  of  the  Whimper- Whinies," 
said  the  little  creature,  in  his  creaky,  whiny 
voice;  "this  is  Whimper- Whiny  land,  you 
know." 

"  I  don't  think  I  like  it,"  said  Peter,  doubt- 
fully. 

"Well,  you  '11  have  to  stay,  anyway," 
said  the  Whimper- Whiny;  "but  I  guess  you 
will  like  it,  for  you  are  just  like  us." 

"Goodness,"  thought  Peter,  "I  hope  I'm 
not  like  you!"  But  he  followed  the  little 
Whimper- Whiny  along  the  path. 

In  a  minute  they  came  out  into  a  grassy 
place  among  the  trees,  where  the  strange 
greenish  light  was  stronger.  Such  a  sound 
as  there  was  there!  Can  you  imagine  doz- 
ens of  naughty  children  all  crying  at  once, 
and  a  half  dozen  pussy  cats  whining  at  the 

134 


THE   LITTLEST   ONES 

same  time  ?  That  is  what  it  sounded  like. 
Peter  put  his  hands  to  his  ears,  and  stood 
still.  Then  he  saw  at  the  other  side  of  the 
open  place,  a  circle  of  little  creatures  like 
the  Whimper-Whiny.  They  were  back  to 
him,  but  he  could  see  that  they  seemed  to 
be  rubbing  at  their  eyes,  and  they  were  all 
bending  over. 

"What  are  they  doing?"  he  whispered 
to  the  Whimper-Whiny,  as  well  as  he 
could,  for  the  noise. 

11  Oh,  just  crying  a  pond,"  said  the 
Whimper-Whiny. 

"  Crying  a  pond  I "  said  Peter,  "What  do 
you  mean?" 

The  Whimper-Whiny  drew  his  mouth 
down  still  further,  as  he  listened  to  the 
screeching  and  whining.  "I  said,  'crying  a 
pond,'  "  he  said,  crossly;  "if  you  don't  un- 
derstand English  I  can't  help  it,  can  I?" 

Just  then,  the  circle  of  little  creatures 
broke  up,  and  some  of  them  came  hopping 
and   running  to  Peter.    They  were  even 

i35 


STORIES   TO   TELL 

worse  than  the  first.  Their  eyes  were  red- 
der, their  noses  more  swelled,  and  their 
mouths  curled  farther  down.  Peter  drew 
back,  but  they  crowded  round  him,  and 
pulled  him  along  with  them.  Then  he  saw 
that  they  had  been  standing  round  a  little 
pool  of  water.  "You  can  help  us  now, 
Peter,"  they  said,  "  we  are  making  a  new 
tear-pond.  You  see,  we  cry  so  much  it  is  a 
pity  to  waste  the  tears,  so  we  make  ponds 
out  of  them."  And  at  once  they  began  to 
whine  and  scream  and  cry  again,  bending 
over  so  the  tears  would  drop  in  the  pool. 

Peter  thought  they  were  horrid;  he 
wanted  to  go  home;  so  he  started  away 
on  the  little  path.  "  Keep  right  on,  for  the 
luncheon  house,"  the  Whimper -Whinies 
called  after  him.  "  You  '11  have  to  stay  in 
our  land  now." 

Peter  ran  on,  in  the  green  light,  hoping  to 
get  out  of  Whimper-Whiny  land.  He  was 
hungry,  and  he  wanted  to  get  back  where 
things  were  cheerful.    But  at  a  turn  in  the 

136 


THE   LITTLEST   ONES 

path  he  saw  a  big  arbor,  with  tables  set 
with  many  bowls  and  glasses,  and  pitchers 
that  looked  like  home.  That  seemed  better, 
and  he  walked  right  in  and  sat  down. 

But  before  he  could  see  what  was  in  the 
pitchers  the  Whimper-Whinies  came  run- 
ning down  the  path  and  jumped  into  the 
chairs.  Then  began  a  pandemonium.  All 
the  while  that  they  grabbed  the  pitchers, 
and  filled  their  bowls,  and  reached  for  bread, 
—  most  rudely,  without  a  single  "please"  or 
"thank  you,"  they  kept  up  a  constant  whin- 
ing and  whimpering.  It  was,  "You  have 
my  milk!"  "You  have  more  bread  than 
I !  "  "I  don't  want  that  bowl !  "  and  things 
like  that.  Peter  was  dreadfully  ashamed  of 
them,  and  he  began  to  think  he  should  get 
nothing  to  eat.  But  presently  they  pushed 
the  pitcher  to  him,  and  he  filled  his  mug. 
He  put  it  to  his  mouth,  and  started  to  drink. 
Ugh,  it  was  sour  milk ! 

"The  milk  is  sour,"  said  Peter  to  his 
neighbor. 

i37 


STORIES   TO   TELL 

"  Oh,  yes,  it  always  is,"  said  the  Whim- 
per-Whiny,  "we  cry  so  much,  you  know, 
it  sours  everything  here ;  there  is  n't  any 
sweet  milk  in  Whimper -Whiny  land." 

14 1  'm  going  home !  "  said  Peter,  getting 
off  his  chair. 

"  No,  you  can't,"  said  the  Whimper- 
Whinies,  "  you  must  be  one  of  us  now  !  " 

Peter  was  dreadfully  frightened.  He 
wanted  to  get  away  as  fast  as  he  could. 
So  he  ran  and  ran,  through  the  woods,  put- 
ting his  fingers  in  his  ears  to  shut  out  the 
crying  of  the  Whimper -Whinies. 

Suddenly  he  stubbed  his  toe,  and  fell  flat 
on  the  ground,  —  and  the  thump  woke  him 
up,  out  of  his  dream ! 

He  was  in  his  own  cozy  bed,  in  the  nice 
goldy  light  of  morning,  and  Mother  Rabbit 
was  just  opening  his  door  to  say  "  Good 
morning." 

Peter  sat  up  and  threw  his  arms  round 
her  neck.  "  Oh,  mother,  dear,"  he  said, 
"  don't  let  the  Whimper-Whinies  get  me  I " 

138 


THE   LITTLEST   ONES 

Mother  Rabbit  began  to  laugh.  "  I  guess 
you  did  dream  of  the  Whimper- Whinies," 
she  said. 

"  I  don't  want  to  go  to  Whimper  -Whiny 
land,  mother,"  said  Peter. 

"I  should  say  not,"  said  mother,  "and 
I  don't  want  you  to.  Let's  have  a  sunny 
face  and  a  brave  heart  to-day,  and  never  a 
whimper  or  a  whine !  " 

"  Yes,  let's  !  "  said  Peter,  and  he  jumped 
out  of  bed,  and  dressed  himself  quickly. 

And  all  that  day  he  took  very  good  care 
not  to  act  like  a  Whimper -Whiny,  for  he 
did  not  like  their  ways  at  all 


Suns   Greeting 


Early  in  the  morning  the  little  girl  comes 
into  the  nursery,  washed  and  combed  and 
dressed,  and  sits  down  at  her  little  table  to 
wait  for  breakfast.  The  great  golden  Sun 
looks  in  at  the  window  and  sees  her  there. 
He  touches  her  cheek,  brightly,  and  shines 
in  her  face  and  makes  her  laugh.  Then  the 
great  Sun  laughs  too,  and  says,  — 

"How  do  you  do?  How  do  you  do? 
I  send  my  rays  to  shine  on  you 
And  warm  your  body  through  and  through." 

140 


THE   LITTLEST   ONES 

He  touches  the  little  feet  and  says,  — 

"Be  firm  and  light  and  merry  and  fast, 
To  run  and  rest  while  the  day  shall  last." 

He  touches  the  little  hands  and  says,  — 

"Clean  and  quiet  and  willing  and  strong, 
Work  and  play  the  whole  day  long." 

And  he  touches  the  little  head  and  says,  — 

"Golden  thoughts  I  bring  to  you, 
Kind  and  happy  and  pure  and  true." 

Last,  he  touches  the  little  heart,  gently,  oh, 
so  gently,  and  says,  — 


(< 


God  give  this  little  heart  the  light 
That  shines  forever,  day  and  night, 
The  warmth  that  lives  when  days  are  cold, 
And  little  girls  are  growing  old." 


PETER'S  VISIT  TO 
MOTHER  SUN'S  HOUSE 


Once  when  Peter  was  sound  asleep  in 
his  bed,  he  dreamed.  He  was  standing  on 
the  grassy  hillside,  among  the  bayberry 
bushes  and  wild  roses,  looking  off  at  the  far 
islands,  when  a  little  rosy  balloon  came 
floating  toward  him.  It  came  softly  on  the 
wind  till  it  was  quite  near,  and  Peter  saw  a 
little  door  on  it.  He  knew  it  must  be  a  magic 
balloon  by  that,  because  real  balloons  have 
no  doors.   So  he  stepped  in. 

142 


\ 


■    >''ypoyo*^   — 


A   TINY   SUNBEAM    GIRLIE    RAN   UP   TO   HIM 


THE   LITTLEST   ONES 

As  soon  as  he  was  inside,  the  little  balloon 
grew  large,  large,  like  a  great  house,  and  he 
saw  that  all  its  sides  were  windows,  with 
cloudy  curtains  at  the  sides,  and  rose-colored 
cushioned  seats  beneath.  So  of  course  he 
went  and  sat  on  one  of  the  seats,  and  began 
to  look  out.  The  big  balloon  was  floating 
up  and  out,  over  the  sea,  up  to  the  clouds. 
Fast  it  went  as  the  wind,  but  softer  than  the 
softest  breeze.  The  little  clouds  waved  to  it, 
the  little  stars  peeped  at  it,  and  the  sea  and 
land  far  below  went  flying  by,  till  at  last 
the  balloon  and  Peter  came  to  the  edge  of 
the  world,  to  the  house  where  the  great 
Mother  Sun  lives,  with  her  children. 

Mother  Sun  was  sitting  by  her  door, 
telling  her  children  where  they  were  to  go 
that  day.  All  the  little  sunbeam  children 
were  gathered  round  her,  listening  to  their 
tasks,  ready  to  start  on  their  journeys. 

When  Peter  stepped  out  of  the  little  door 
a  tiny  sunbeam  girlie  ran  up  to  him  and 
said,  "  How  nice  that  you  came,  Peter  1" 

i43 


STORIES   TO   TELL 

Her  hair  was  yellower  than  California  pop- 
pies, and  curlier  than  a  lamb's  wool;  her 
eyes  were  blue  as  the  sea,  and  her  little 
white  robe  flickered  flashes  of  light  when 
she  moved. 

Peter  said  "  Thank  you "  to  her,  and 
made  his  bow  to  Mother  Sun.  Mother  Sun 
smiled  at  him,  and  said  he  was  just  in  time 
to  hear  what  the  sunbeam  children  were  to 
do  for  their  day's  work.  "  But  you  must  rot 
play  with  them  now,"  she  said,  "  it  is 
almost  time  for  them  to  start."  So  Peter 
stood  very  still  and  watched  and  listened. 

First  Mother  Sun  spoke  to  a  tall,  shining 
sunbeam  boy:  "You,  Joy-of-Morning," 
she  said,  "speed  to  the  ends  of  the  earth  to 
the  bleak  mountain  that  rises  from  the  forest, 
and  search  out  the  lost  traveler  who  lies 
there  exhausted  and  afraid.  Warm  his 
numb  hands,  shine  on  the  chill  fog  around 
him,  and  pierce  it  till  he  sees  the  light  on 
the  ocean  far  away,  and  knows  how  to 
choose  his  path." 

144 


THE   LITTLEST   ONES 

Joy-of- Morning  lifted  his  bright  head 
and  waved  his  hand  like  a  flash  of  a  bird's 
wing,  and  in  the  instant  he  was  gone. 

11  Comfort-of- Watchers,"  said  Mother 
Sun.  A  lovely  sunbeam  girl,  strong  and  red- 
cheeked,  with  her  robe  bound  up  with  flow- 
ers, leaned  forward.  "  Do  you  pass  to  the 
island  in  the  midst  of  the  sea  you  know  of; 
in  the  poor  fisherman's  cottage  a  woman  lies 
waiting  for  the  morning,  sick  and  helpless. 
Whisper  through  the  pane  that  light  is  on 
the  sea,  day  breaks,  help  is  near ;  pass  in, 
and  drive  out  the  gray  shadows  from  the 
room ;  touch  her  cheek  and  give  the  mes- 
sage that  warmth  and  joy  have  come 
again." 

Comfort-of- Watchers  smiled  sweetly,  so 
sweetly,  caught  up  her  flowers,  and  with 
outstretched  arms,  was  away. 

11  My  Harvesters,"  said  Mother  Sun,  and 
instantly  a  band  of  sunbeam  boys  stepped 
forward,  their  hair  shining  like  copper  and 
gold,  wands  in  their  hands,  like  sheaves  of 

145 


STORIES   TO   TELL 

wheat,  but  radiant  so  that  they  blinded  the 
eye.  "Hasten  to  the  field  of  the  old  man 
upon  the  prairie  beyond  the  muddy  stream, 
on  the  far  side  of  the  great  hills,  and  work 
there  all  day,"  said  Mother  Sun.  "  Leave 
not  one  spear  of  golden  grain  unripened 
when  I  call  you  home  ;  touch  all.  Be  swift, 
for  your  task  is  great." 

The  shining  band  of  harvesters  raised 
their  magic  sheaves  in  one  swirl  of  light, 
and  sped  away. 

After  them  Mother  Sun  sent  band  after 
band  of  her  children  to  ripen  the  fruits  on 
the  trees,  the  berries  in  the  fields,  the  fruits 
in  the  gardens.  They  went  with  a  flash  and 
a  smile,  till  all  the  air  around  Peter  seemed 
to  be  shining  and  smiling.  Then  Mother 
Sun  beckoned  to  two  smaller  sunbeam  chil- 
dren, a  dear  little  golden  girl  and  boy. 

"  Run,  Cheer  and  Delight,"  she  said, 
"  find  out  the  hidden  spot  in  the  dark  woods 
where  the  little  nest  of  birds  wait  for  the 
mother  bird  that  was  shot  yesterday.    Pet 

146 


THE  SUNBEAM  CHILD  AND  THE  LITTLE  BIRDS 


THE   LITTLEST   ONES 

them,  warm  them,  make  them  strong  to  fly; 
tell  them  to  try,  try,  try !  Do  not  leave  till 
they  are  brave,  for  they  must  take  care  of 
themselves  now." 

Little  Cheer  and  Delight  clapped  their 
hands,  and  with  arms  round  each  others' 
necks  darted  away. 

Then  came  the  darling  tiny  sunbeam 
girlie  who  had  smiled  at  Peter.  "  I  am  not 
too  little,  what  for  me,  dear  Mother?"  she 
said. 

Mother  Sun  put  her  hand  on  the  curly 
hair.  "  None  is  too  little  to  serve,"  she  said. 
"  Your  task  is  to  go  to  the  big  gray  city 
and  find  the  little  house  that  stands  in  the 
court  behind  all  the  grand  ones.  Enter  the 
window  under  the  eaves,  and  find  the  baby 
who  lies  in  a  crib,  all  alone  while  his  mother 
works.  Play  with  him  ;  make  him  reach  his 
hands  to  you,  teach  his  eyes  to  follow  you 
about  the  coverlid ;  find  the  little  piece  of 
glass  his  mother  has  hung  by  the  window 
and   shine   through  it  so  that  the  pretty 

147 


STORIES   TO   TELL 

colors  go  dancing  over  the  room.  Red, 
blue,  orange,  violet,  and  many  more  they 
must  be.  Keep  the  little  one  happy  and 
quiet  till  your  time  to  rest." 

The  little  sunbeam  girlie  blew  a  kiss  to 
her  mother,  another  to  Peter,  and  danced 
away.  Peter  stared  after  her  golden  head, 
but  it  shone  so  that  it  hurt  his  eyes.  He  be- 
gan to  rub  them  —  and  suddenly  he  woke. 

He  was  in  his  own  room,  and  no  rosy 
balloon  was  in  sight. 

But  through  the  window  a  little  flicker 
of  golden  sunlight  was  dancing  on  Peter's 
glass  paper-weight,  sending  blue  twinkles 
right  in  his  eyes.  "Which  one  are  you?" 
said  Peter,  "  I  did  n't  hear  her  tell  you  to 
do  that ! "  And  then  he  laughed,  for  of 
course  he  knew  it  was  only  a  dream. 


THE  WIND  AT  WORK 


The  little  girl  and  boy  kneel  on  the  win- 
dow seat  and  look  down  on  the  boats  in  the 
harbor.  Every  one  has  its  nose  pointing  to 
the  east.  They  are  sniffing  the  wind,  father 
says;  wherever  the  wind  comes  from,  that 
way  all  the  boats'  noses  will  be  turned. 

In  the  harbor  is  the  Joan,  the  green  and 
white  rowboat  father  takes  the  children  in; 
and  the  twin  sail  boats,  Eagle  and  Owl, 
graceful  as  swans ;  and  as  many  as  twenty 
fishing  boats,  black  and  swift,  piled  with 
nets  and  lobster  cages ;  besides  dories  and 
motor  boats  more  than  I  can  count. 

149  • 


STORIES   TO   TELL 

And  all  these  boats  are  sniffing  the  wind, 
which  comes  from  the  east,  straight  out  to 
sea.  Nothing  stops  that  wind,  or  gives  it 
any  bad  smells,  all  the  way  to  England. 
So  fresh  and  salty  and  good  it  is  that  it 
turns  pale  cheeks  to  red  and  brown,  and 
makes  dull  eyes  bright  as  jewels.  It  tosses 
the  waves  and  ruffles  the  poplar  leaves  on 
the  tree  by  the  door ;  it  scurries  the  fleecy 
clouds  across  the  sky.  And  all  the  while 
it  seems  to  be  playing,  it  is  working  for  the 
world,  working  good  for  the  great  earth  and 
all  the  children  of  men  who  live  on  it. 

The  little  girl  and  boy  have  a  song  to 
sing  about  the  wind,  that  tells  some  of  the 
work  it  does.  They  sing  it,  looking  out  the 
window  at  the  boats  in  the  harbor. 


WIND  SONG 


I  am  the  Wind  that  blows  so  high, 
Puffing  the  clouds  about  the  sky, 
Turning  the  windmills  round  so  fast, 
Filling  the  sails  as  I  go  past, 
Wafting  the  fragrance  of  the  flowers 
Into  the  weary  city  doors, 
Driving  the  smoke  and  smells  away, 
All  on  a  windy  day ! 

I  am  the  Wind  that  blows  so  low, 
Dusting  the  daisies  as  I  go, 
Cooling  the  children's  golden  heads, 
Soothing  the  sick  in  fevered  beds, 

151 


STORIES   TO   TELL 

Frothing  the  waves  upon  the  beach, 
Piling  the  mosses  in  your  reach, 
Rolling  the  shells  for  happy  play, 
All  on  a  breezy  day ! 

I  am  the  Wind  that  blows  so  loud, 
Bringing  the  fog  and  rain  and  cloud, 
Sweeping  the  rocks  and  trees  and  soil, 
Cleansing  the  world  of  stain  of  toil. 
Foam  of  the  rain  and  water's  rush 
Follow  my  mighty  scrubbing  brush ! 
This  is  the  Lord's  house-cleaning  way, 
All  on  a  stormy  day  ! 

When  my  children  were  four  and  five  years  old, 
we  used  this  song  as  a  picture  song,  or  picture 
dance,  if  I  may  apply  the  word  to  their  rhythmic 
but  inaccurate  motions.  We  sang  it  to  the  tune 
of  "Come,  Birdie,  Come  and  Live  with  Me,"  in 
waltz  time.  And  they  skipped  in  time,  using 
their  hands  and  arms  in  appropriate  gestures  as 
the  lines  suggest.  It  was  a  pretty  game.  The 
first  verse  suggests  waving  arms  and  hands  held 
high,  while  at  the  second  they  make  a  number  of 
pretty  bending,  caressing  movements.  The  third 
verse  gives  a  chance  for  whirling  and  for  vigorous 
sweeping  gestures. 


PETER'S  VISIT  TO 
MOTHER  WIND'S  HOUSE 


This  is  a  dream  Peter  had,  after  he  had 
been  sailing  with  Father. 

153 


STORIES   TO   TELL 

He  was  standing  on  the  hillside  again, 
looking  out  at  the  water  across  the  wild  roses 
and  bayberry  bushes,  when  the  little  rosy 
balloon  appeared,  and  floated  straight  to 
him. 

In  at  its  little  door  he  stepped,  and,  as 
before,  the  little  balloon  grew  large,  large, 
till  it  was  like  a  great  house ;  and  all  its  sides 
were  windows,  curtained  with  pinky  clouds, 
and  with  rose-colored  cushioned  seats  be- 
neath. Peter  curled  up  on  the  seat,  rested 
his  head  on  his  hand,  and  looked  at  the  won- 
derful things  they  passed. 

Out  and  away  floated  the  magic  balloon, 
past  the  clouds,  over  the  mountains,  away 
and  away,  to  the  other  side  of  the  world. 
Beyond  the  other  side  of  the  world  it  came 
at  last  to  the  Wind's  House.  And  there  it 
settled  soft  as  a  feather,  and  Peter  stepped 
out,  where  Mother  Wind  sat  at  her  porch, 
with  her  wind-children  around  her. 

The  wind-children  were  all  moving,  hither 
and  thither,  with  wavy  movements,  so  that 

i54 


MOTHER   WIND   WAS   PLAYING   WITH   THE    LITTLEST    WIND-CHILD 


THE   LITTLEST   ONES 

Peter  could  not  tell  whether  he  was  looking 
at  the  same  one  for  an  instant  at  a  time. 
They  wore  dresses  of  pearly  colors,  like 
clouds  at  dawn,  and  the  dresses  moved  so 
lightly  that  Peter  could  not  see  at  all  what 
they  were  like, — only  the  soft,  pearly  colors. 

Mother  Wind  was  playing  with  the  littlest 
wind-child,  who  tossed  a  great  silver  ball 
into  her  lap,  and  caught  it  again  when 
Mother  Wind  threw  it.  The  ball  floated  like 
a  bubble  from  their  hands,  but  it  always 
settled  in  Mother  Wind's  lap,  and  always 
fell  in  the  littlest  wind's  hands. 

The  littlest  wind-child  danced  up  to  Peter, 
and  stood  wavily  before  him.  Her  hair  was 
dark  like  the  first  edge  of  night,  and  full 
of  ripples. 

"  I  am  little  Southwest  Breeze,  Peter," 
she  said,  "  I  've  often  played  with  you  in 
summer  time ;  don't  you  remember  how  I 
slip  my  fingers  through  your  hair  ?  Some- 
times I  run  over  the  smooth  sea-floor,  and 
it  dimples  all  up  to  laugh  at  me.  I  make  you 

i55 


STORIES   TO   TELI/ 

sleepy,  funny  boy !  "  And  with  a  laugh  the 
littlest  wind  puffed  her  breath  at  Peter,  but 
very  softly.  Oh,  how  warm  and  soft,  and 
sweet-smelling  and  drowsy  that  breath  was ! 
Peter  half  shut  his  eyes,  and  the  little  Breeze 
danced  and  laughed  to  see  him. 

Just  then  a  tall  wind-child  came  up  to 
them.  His  hair  was  all  about  his  face,  so 
that  Peter  could  only  see  his  black  eyes 
now  and  then.  His  body  gleamed  like  cop- 
per through  the  wavy  garment  he  wore,  not 
at  all  like  the  littlest  wind's  rosy  limbs. 

"  I  am  South  Wind,"  he  said,  in  a  sharp, 
sighing  voice.  "  I  come  from  the  white  des- 
ert where  the  sand  and  the  sun  blaze  always ; 
I  pass  the  tropic  islands  where  the  coral 
reefs  lie  naked  in  the  sun ;  I  fly  over  great 
fields  of  flowers  but  bring  no  cooling  to 
them.  I  am  the  breath  of  the  heat." 

"He  has  much  work  to  do,"  said  Mother 
Wind;  "he  must  melt  the  ice  and  snow 
when  Earth  is  weary  of  their  wrapping. 
He  has  to  work  with  the  sun-children  long 

156 


THE   LITTLEST   ONES 

hours  to  set  the  water  streams  free.  But  he 
is  a  little  mischievous." 

"Am  I?"  said  the  South  Wind,  "Ha, 
ha !  Let  me  touch  you  with  my  nice  warm 
hand,  Peter ! " 

He  touched  Peter's  cheek  with  his  finger. 
Ugh !  It  was  hot  almost  to  scorch.  Peter 
felt  smothered,  just  to  see  South  Wind  so 
near. 

"Be  quiet,  son,"  said  Mother  Wind, 
"Cool  his  cheek,  East  Wind." 

As  she  spoke,  a  gray-robed  wind-girl  ad- 
vanced softly  toward  Peter,  and  South 
Wind  vanished.  The  East  Wind's  eyes 
were  gray.  They  had  blue  lights  in  them 
when  she  smiled,  and  though  her  hair  waved 
like  a  mist  about  her  face,  Peter  could  see 
how  brave  and  young  it  was. 

East  Wind  pushed  her  hair  from  her  face 
and  said,  "  I  will  cool  the  burning."  And 
she  waved  her  hand  lightly  over  Peter's 
head.  And  all  at  once  a  soft,  cool  fog  lay  on 
his  hair  and  cheeks,  and  he  smelled  the  salt 

i57 


STORIES   TO   TELL 

of  the  sea,  and  the  strong  tang  of  seaweed. 
She  waved  her  hand  again,  and  Peter  felt 
like  shouting  for  joy,  so  cool  and  bracing 
was  the  air  around  him. 

"  Oh,  dear  East  Wind,  I  would  love  to 
play  with  you,"  he  cried. 

"I  am  more  than  a  playmate,"  answered 
East  Wind, "  I  have  a  great  deal  to  do  when 
my  brother  has  been  too  much  about;  I 
have  to  search  out  the  hidden  places  in  cities 
and  breathe  life  again  into  little  children 
and  sick  people  who  have  fainted  at  his 
lingering.  And  the  cleaning  I  have  to  do  ! 
Dear,  dear,  you  men-people  are  so  helpless ! 
Besides,  I  am  the  wings  of  the  Storm  and 
have  to  serve  her.  She  cannot  travel  with- 
out us,  and  we  all  carry  her  when  she  bids 
us.  But  I  do  like  to  play,  Peter!  All  the 
beautiful  white  sail-boats  are  my  toys!" 

"And  mine!"  Another  wind-child  came 
pushing  East  Wind  away.  He  was  taller 
than  she,  with  brown  hair  and  red  lips,  and 
his  robe  was  richer  in  its  pearly  colors  than 

158 


THE   LITTLEST   ONES 

the  others.  "I  am  a  good  playmate,  too, 
Peter,"  he  said,  "  don't  you  remember 
your  friend  Northwest  Wind?  I  come 
from  the  great  prairies  and  the  far  moun- 
tains, across  mighty  lakes  and  rivers,  and 
over  wonderful  forests  of  fragrant  pines. 
I  bring  you  the  bluest  skies,  the  brightest 
sun,  the  white  caps  on  the  ocean.  I  am  cool 
and  fresh  but  have  no  chill,  and  though  I  am 
strong,  I  do  not  give  my  wings  to  the  storm. 
Play  with  me,  Peter!    Play  and  dance!" 

And  the  merry  Northwest  Wind  reached 
out  his  hands  to  Peter,  and  Peter  felt  him- 
self lifted  and  swayed  back  and  forth  in  a 
wonderful  dance.  It  was  so  gay,  so  gay! 
And  how  cool  and  dry  the  air  was  !  Peter 
smelled  apples  and  hay,  and  some  kind  of 
sharp,  pickly  smell  like  mother's  kitchen  on  a 
September  day.  He  wanted  to  dance  forever. 

"  Dearest  Northwest  Wind,"  he  said,  "I 
love  you,  too!   Stay  with  me!" 

But  as  he  spoke  his  "playmate  leaped 
away,  and  all  the  little  wind-children  drew 

i59 


STORIES   TO   TELL 

close  to  their  mother.  A  strange  wind- 
girl  was  striding  forward,  her  tall  figure 
wrapped  in  a  robe  that  seemed  shot  through 
with  gleams  of  violet  light.  Her  hair  was 
yellower  than  flax,  her  eyes  as  blue  as  steel, 
her  skin  as  white  as  snow. 

"  I  too  can  play,"  she  said,  and  as  she 
spoke  Peter  thought  he  heard  sleigh  bells. 
"  I  come  from  the  land  of  eternal  ice,  I  travel 
across  unmelting  snow.  I  know  the  polar 
bear  well,  and  the  Eskimo  children  are  mine. 
I  make  great  sport  of  the  lakes  and  rivers 
when  my  time  comes ;  they  wrestle  with  me, 
but  I  bind  them  in  my  ice  chains  till  some  of 
my  brothers  come  to  aid  them.  Few  love 
me  for  the  work  I  do,  for  I  am  cold,  cold; 
yet  I  work.  These  others  would  have  the 
Earth  worn  to  her  death  with  their  pranks 
and  their  dances  if  I  did  not  protect  her.  I 
lock  her  away  from  them  and  give  her  rest. 
I  make  the  snow  roads  firm  for  the  lumber- 
men to  drag  the  great  trees  from  the  forest. 
I  am  the  North  Wind." 

1 60 


THE   LITTLEST   ONES 

Peter  was  afraid  of  the  North  Wind. 
While  she  spoke  the  lights  flickered  and 
gleamed  in  her  garments,  and  the  air  was 
sharp  and  still  like  a  winter  day.  But  he  did 
not  want  to  be  rude,  so  he  said,  timidly,  "I 
am  sure  you  do  a  great  deal  of  good." 

"Are  you?"  said  the  North  Wind,  "then 
come  with  me ! " 

And  she  stretched  out  her  hand  to  Peter. 

Peter  shivered  all  over,  and  shrank  back. 
An  icy  arrow  seemed  to  shoot  from  her 
hand  to  his  very  heart. 

11  Oh,  little  Southwest  Breeze,  come 
quickly!"  he  cried.  "Warm  me,  or  I 
die!" 

Little  Southwest  Breeze  moved  from  her 
mother's  knee,  but  the  North  Wind  turned 
her  steely  eyes  on  her,  and  the  little  sister 
hid  behind  her  mother's  skirt.  Peter  felt  the 
cold  stealing  through  his  veins,  freezing, 
freezing. 

"  Fie,  my  daughter!  "  said  the  Mother  of 
Winds,  sternly,  "leave  little  Peter  alone! 

161 


STORIES   TO   TELL 

West  Wind,  bring  your  summer  cloak  to 
warm  him." 

At  her  words  the  cold  North  Wind  strode 
away,  and  a  laughing  boy  came  running  to 
Peter,  with  a  little  cloak  of  fleecy  white  and 
fawn  and  rose.  He  threw  it  around  Peter's 
shoulders  with  a  merry  toss,  and  instantly 
Peter  was  all  cozy  warm !  Not  hot,  not 
sleepy-drowsy,  but  just  summery  warm. 
The  wind-boy  nodded  his  bright  brown 
head  at  him,  and  looked  kindly  from  his 
gray-blue  eyes.  He  was  younger  than 
Northwest  Wind,  but  he  resembled  him. 
Only  his  motions  were  gentler,  and  his  hair 
brighter. 

"Better  now,  Peter?"  he  said,  touching 
Peter's  face  with  his  brown  hand.  What  a 
nice  touch  that  was !  It  felt  like  a  mother's 
kiss. 

" 1  '11  dance  with  you,  darling  wind ! "  said 
Peter,  happily. 

"Well  you  may,"  said  the  wind-boy, 
"for  I  am  your  companion  all  the  long 

162 


AWAY  THEY  DANCED,  WHIRLING  AND  SWAYING  AND 

DARTING 


THE   LITTLEST   ONES 

summer  days.  I  am  West  Wind.  Many  a 
time  we've  raced  together  over  fields  of 
buttercups,  Peter !  I  drive  your  little  sail- 
boat across  the  pond  when  you  play.  I  stir 
up  all  the  sweet  smells  of  clover  and  sweet 
brier  for  your  mother  to  smell  at  in  the 
morning.  I  fly  your  kite,  and  —  come  on, 
have  a  game  !  " 

His  hand  took  Peter's,  lightly,  and  Peter 
found  that  his  feet  could  fly !  Away  they 
danced,  whirling  and  swaying  and  darting, 
like  swallows  in  flight,  and  all  the  while  the 
little  cloak  of  summer  fluttered  from  Peter's 
shoulders,  with  its  cozy  warmth. 

Faster  and  gayer  they  danced,  merrier  and 
merrier,  till  all  at  once  Peter  laughed  aloud. 

Well !  Where  was  he  ?  Who  was  that 
laughing  with  him?  Mother,  to  be  sure, 
bending  over  him  in  bed  !  And  it  was  full 
morning,  and  he  was  rolled  like  a  puppy  in 
his  soft  coverlid.    Well,  well,  well ! 

So  Peter  knew  it  was  just  a  dream. 
Was  n't  it  a  nice  one  ? 


When  Christ  ms  Born  of  Marg  Free 

OLD  CHRISTMAS  CAROL 


When  Christ  was  born  of  Mary  free, 
In  Bethlehem  that  fair  citie, 

164 


Angels  sang  there  with  mirth  and  glee, 
"In  excelsis  Gloria." 

Chorus. 

"  In  excelsis  Gloria, 
In  excelsis  Gloria, 
In  excelsis  Gloria, 
In  excelsis  Gloria." 

Herdsmen  beheld  these  Angels  bright, 
To  them  appearing  with  great  light, 
Who  said,  "  God's  Son  is  born  to-night 
In  excelsis  Gloria. 

"The  King  is  come  to  save  mankind, 
As  in  Scripture  truths  we  find, 
Therefore  this  song  we  have  in  mind, 
In  excelsis  Gloria. 

"Then,  dear  Lord,  for  Thy  great  grace, 
Grant  us  in  bliss  to  see  Thy  face, 
That  we  may  sing  to  Thy  solace, 
In  excelsis  Gloria." 


TkeNoak's  Ark 


There  was  once  a  little  girl  named 
Alice,  who  had  a  Noah's  Ark  for  Christmas. 
She  was  very  fond  of  it.  She  liked  to  play 
with  the  little  wooden  animals  better  than 
with  her  dolls.  Especially  she  liked  to  play 
with  the  horses  and  cows  and  sheep  and 
dogs. 

The  next  Christmas,  when  her  big  uncle 
asked  what  she  wanted  Santa  Claus  to 
bring  her,  she  said,  "  Another  Noah's  Ark." 
So  the  kind  uncle  bought  her  a  larger 
Noah's  Ark  at  the  toy  store,  with  more 
and  prettier  animals  in  it,  made  of  wood, 
and  nicely  painted. 

1 66 


THE   LITTLEST   ONES 

The  little  girl  loved  it  dearly,  and  played 
with  it  more  than  any  other  toy.  She  liked 
it  so  well,  that  next  Christmas,  when  the 
big  uncle  said,  "What  shall  I  bring  you 
for  Christmas?"  she  said  again,  "Another 
Noah's  Ark ! "  The  uncle  laughed  very  much 
at  that.  "  Surely  you  don't  want  another !  " 
he  said.  But  the  little  girl  said  she  surely  did. 

So  on  Christmas  there  was  another  big 
beautiful  Noah's  Ark  for  her,  with  still  larger 
and  more  beautiful  animals,  of  painted 
wood.  And  the  little  girl  played  with  them 
all,  the  new  ones  and  the  old  ones,  and 
loved  them  all. 

As  long  as  she  was  little  enough  to  pla)' 
with  toys  at  all,  she  continued  to  like  her 
animals  best,  and  she  never  tired  of  them. 
Her  favorite  game  was  to  play  she  had  a 
wonderful  farm,  a  stock  farm,  where  there 
were  all  the  best  animals  in  the  world.  She 
had  fine  cows,  splendid  horses,  clever  dogs, 
fat  sheep,  fatter  pigs,  and  pretty  hens  and 
doves  and  ducks  and  geese. 

167 


STORIES   TO   TELL 

Well,  all  little  girls  grow  up,  you  know, 
if  you  give  them  time,  and  this  one  did. 
She  grew  to  be  a  big  girl  at  school,  then  a 
bigger  girl  at  college,  and  then  a  young 
woman,  graduated  from  college.  The  toys 
had  been  put  away  for  a  long  long  time, 
now. 

About  this  time  she  began  to  want  to 
do  some  work  in  the  world.  Alice  was  very 
smart  and  she  had  learned  a  good  many 
things,  so  she  wanted  to  be  useful.  Of  all 
the  things  she  wanted  to  do,  she  would 
have  liked  most  to  raise  animals,  and  live 
on  a  little  farm,  all  her  own.  But  when- 
ever she  talked  about  it  people  laughed; 
they  said  a  girl  could  n't  run  a  farm.  Father 
did  n't  laugh ;  he  said  he  believed  she  could 
run  a  farm.  But  he  said  no  one  could  do  it 
nowadays  without  money  to  begin  on,  and 
money  they  did  n't  have.  Alice  knew  this 
was  true.  So  she  went  to  work  in  an  office, 
and  began  to  save  her  money  carefully,  so 
that  in  a  few  years  she  might  have  enough 

168 


THE   LITTLEST   ONES 

to  start  a  very  little  farm.  And  every  eve- 
ning she  studied  how  to  be  a  farmer. 

By  and  by  Christmas  was  near;  and 
just  then  the  big  uncle  came  home  from 
South  America.  He  had  been  away  ten 
years,  and  he  was  a  good  deal  bigger  and 
older,  but  he  was  as  kind  as  ever.  And  one 
of  the  first  things  he  said  to  the  girl  who 
used  to  be  a  little  girl  was,  ''What  shall 
I  bring  you  for  Christmas?" 

Now  the  girl  had  heard  her  father  say 
that  Uncle  Will  had  grown  rich  in  South 
America,  and  she  remembered  how  kind  he 
was,  so  she  did  not  want  to  ask  for  any- 
thing, because  she  knew  he  would  go  and 
buy  her  the  very  best  of  whatever  she  asked 
for.  And  that  would  seem  like  taking  ad- 
vantage. So  she  would  not  tell  him  any- 
thing that  she  wanted,  though  she  would 
have  liked  some  new  furs,  or  a  set  of  books. 
But  still  he  kept  asking  and  asking,  and  at 
last  the  girl  remembered  about  the  times 
when  she  was  a  little  girl,  and  she  began  to 

169 


STORIES   TO   TELL 

laugh  very  hard.  "  Please  send  me  a  Noah's 
Ark,"  she  said. 

Uncle  Will  laughed  too,  and  kept  on 
laughing  a  long,  long  time.  "All  right,  my 
dear,"  he  said,  "  I  will."  And  every  few  days 
he  would  say,  "  Sure  you  want  a  Noah's 
Ark?  "  She  knew  his  teasing  ways,  so  she 
always  said,  "  Yes,  sure." 

To  her  mother  she  said,  "I  should  n't  be 
a  bit  surprised  if  Uncle  Will  carried  out  the 
joke,  and  brought  me  a  little  Noah's  Ark 
on  Christmas."  And  her  mother  said  she 
would  n't  be  surprised  either. 

But  he  did  not.  On  Christmas  morning 
he  came  early  to  the  house,  with  flowers  for 
mother,  a  gift  for  father,  and  nothing  for 
Alice.  But  when  he  had  exchanged  "  Merry 
Christmases,"  he  said,  "I  have  planned  an 
excursion  for  Alice,  an  automobile  ride  out 
into  the  country  for  supper  at  a  nice  little 
place  I  know.  I  hope  she  will  accept  my 
Christmas  present." 

Alice  was  delighted.   She  had  not  had 

170 


THE   LITTLEST   ONES 

many  automobile  rides,  and  she  loved  the 
country  more  than  all  other  places  in  the 
world. 

So  after  dinner  all  the  party  was  bundled 
and  wrapped,  and  they  started  off  with 
Uncle  Will  in  his  big  brown  car. 

They  rode  fast,  through  the  crisp  Christ- 
mas weather,  and  it  seemed  as  if  Uncle  Will 
had  some  particular  time  in  his  mind,  for  he 
looked  at  the  big  clocks  in  every  town,  and 
sometimes  he  put  on  speed,  and  then  again 
he  would  slow  down  a  little. 

At  last,  when  Alice  was  getting  very  curi- 
ous to  know  where  they  were  going,  the 
machine  turned  unexpectedly  in  at  a  small 
road  in  the  pretty  old  town  of  Woods  Farms, 
and  then  in  a  moment  it  stopped  before  a 
small  brick  house  which  stood  close  to  the 
road.  It  was  a  wonderfully  pretty  brick 
house,  and  though  it  stood  so  near  the  road 
in  front  there  were  fields  on  fields  stretch- 
ing away  behind  it. 

"Oh,  is  this  an  inn?"  said  Alice.  "It  is 

171 


STORIES   TO   TELL 

the  dearest  place  I  ever  saw !  How  nice  of 
you  to  bring  us !  " 

"  Glad  you  like  it,"  said  Uncle  Will. 

As  they  got  out  of  the  car,  Alice  caught 
sight  of  a  fine-looking  barn  near  the  rear  of 
the  house.  It  was  rather  new,  and  had  many 
windows  in  it. 

"Oh,  Uncle,"  said  Alice,  "will  they  let 
us  look  in  the  barn  ?  I  know  they  must  have 
stock  there,  by  the  windows." 

"We  will  look  the  very  first  thing,"  said 
Uncle. 

Straight  to  the  barn  they  went.  Over  the 
large  door  was  a  name,  but  Alice  did  not 
see  it  because  Uncle  called  her  attention 
to  something  just  then.  A  strong,  pleasant- 
looking  man  met  them  at  the  door,  and  took 
off  his  cap  to  Uncle  as  if  he  knew  him. 
"Just  in  time,  sir,"  he  said,  "they  are  all 
here  and  ready." 

Alice  did  not  have  time  to  wonder,  for 
what  she  saw  on  the  great  clean  floor  was 
so  fascinating  that  it  took  her  breath  away. 

172 


THE   LITTLEST   ONES 

The  barn  was  full  of  animals !  And  they 
were  all  in  the  main  building,  lined  up  like 
a  procession.  Of  course  they  were  tied  by 
halter  ropes,  but  they  were  so  gentle  and 
beautiful  that  it  seemed  as  if  they  stood 
there  of  their  own  will,  to  show  their  visit- 
ors how  fine  they  were. 

First  stood  two  splendid  cart  horses; 
great  beauties  from  Normandy,  with  kind 
eyes  and  glossy  coats,  and  mighty  muscles. 
Next  stood  two  sweet-breathed  Jersey  cows, 
handsome  and  gentle  as  children.  Behind 
them  were  a  pair  of  sheep,  a  big  South- 
down mother  and  the  darlingest  fat  little 
baby  lamb.  Next  were  two  fat,  sleek  pigs, 
that  could  n't  keep  so  still  as  the  others, 
and  made  little  grunts  of  curiosity  and 
conversation. 

By  the  time  Alice  got  to  the  pigs  her  eyes 
were  fairly  shining.  "  Why  do  they  have  all 
these  beauties  out  here  ?  "  she  asked.  "And 
how  did  it  happen  that  there  are  two  of 
everything?    See,   there   is  a  hen  and   a 

173 


STORIES   TO   TELL 

rooster,  a  duck  and  a  drake,  two  turkeys, 
two  geese,  —  why,  mother,  there  are  even 
two  dogs."  For  just  at  this  moment  two 
wonderful  puppies  came  from  somewhere 
in  the  barn  and  threw  themselves  on  Alice 
with  funny  little  barks  and  wriggles  of 
joy. 

"Do  you  like  them?"  said  Uncle. 

"Like  them,"  said  Alice,  "why,  Uncle, 
they  are  prize  winners,  every  one ;  don't 
you  see  they  are  blooded  stock?" 

"  Good  girl,"  laughed  Uncle  Will,  "  I  did 
not  know  you  were  so  keen.  Alice,  look  at 
the  name  over  the  door." 

Alice  turned,  and  read  over  the  inner 
door,  in  brown  lettering  on  a  green  sign, 
"THE  ARK." 

"  Why,  — how  strange  !  What  a  quaint 
name  !  "  she  said.  "  It  just  goes  with  the 
animals,  'two  by  two.'  What  interesting 
people  must  own  this  place ;  whose  inn  is 
it?" 

"  It   is  n't  an   inn,"   said   Uncle  Will, 

i74 


THE   LITTLEST   ONES 

taking  her  hand.  "It  is  a  Noah's  Ark, 
Alice  dear,  —  your  Christmas  present  from 
me." 

"A  Noah's  Ark  —  Uncle  —  you  don't 
mean  —  you  cant  mean  to  give  me  all 
this ! " 

"  I  certainly  do,"  said  Uncle,  "  and  if 
you  will  just  '  step  lively,  ladies,'  I  '11  show 
you  the  inside  of  your  ark  house !  " 

But  what  do  you  suppose  Alice  did? 
She  began  to  cry !  —  Harder  than  she  had 
ever  cried  before.  Uncle  was  terribly  fright- 
ened, and  mother  took  her  in  her  arms,  but 
Alice  suddenly  raised  her  wet  face  and 
laughed.  "  I  'm  crying  for  happiness,  Uncle, 
dearest,"  she  said,  "this  is  a  fairy  tale 
come  true." 

Indeed  it  seemed  like  it.  For  in  the  house 
were  all  the  things  a  nice  girl  would  love: 
quaint  furniture,  pretty  china,  flowers,  and 
a  whole  bookcase  of  books  on  farming. 
There  were  bedrooms  for  mother  and  fa- 
ther, for  Alice,  and  for  Uncle  Will  when  he 

i75 


STORIES   TO    TELL 

was  n't  in  South  America.  And  there  was 
a  cozy  porch  for  summer. 

Uncle  said  the  house  had  been  built  over 
from  an  old  one  by  a  man  he  knew,  and 
then  after  the  family  had  bought  furniture 
to  fit  every  room,  and  had  built  a  fine  new 
stock  barn,  they  were  called  by  business  to 
Chicago,  and  had  to  sell.  Uncle  said  he 
heard  about  it  the  very  day  Alice  had  said 
she  wanted  the  Noah's  Ark,  and  it  fitted 
his  plans  for  her  so  perfectly,  that  he  bought 
it  that  same  day.  And  then  he  sent  all  over 
the  country  for  the  finest  animals  of  every 
kind,  and  hired  an  experienced  man  to  take 
care  of  them.  The  man  was  to  stay  and 
work  for  Alice,  and  his  wife  was  to  help  in 
the  house. 

I  can't  begin  to  tell  you  what  they  talked 
about  that  lovely  Christmas  afternoon,  or 
how  Alice  exclaimed  and  laughed,  and  cried 
again,  or  how  she  went  from  one  room  to 
another,  upstairs  and  down,  admiring  her 
Noah's  Ark.  Or  how  she  made  Uncle  Will 

176 


THE   LITTLEST   ONES 

choose  his  chair  and  nook  and  room,  and 
how  Uncle  Will  said  it  had  been  the  dream 
of  his  life  to  have  a  New  England  home  to 
come  to  when  he  needed  rest;  and  how  he 
said  it  could  n't  be  quite  perfect  unless  there 
was  a  nice  girl  in  it,  and  a  kind  mother,  and 
a  good  father  to  make  it  safe.  Really,  it  was 
too  happy  to  tell,  for  there  was  so  much 
of  it. 

But  I  can  tell  you  what  they  had  for 
supper ! 

Alice  set  the  table  in  her  own  new  dining 
room,  with  the  pretty  china,  and  then  in 
the  kitchen  she  found  that  Uncle  Will  had 
stocked  the  pantries  with  everything  a 
housekeeper  could  wish.  Mother  had  been 
in  the  secret,  and  had  helped  him  make  out 
the  orders.  So,  with  the  bundles  mother 
had  smuggled  into  the  car,  they  had  a  per- 
fect Christmas  supper.  There  was  cold  roast 
goose  and  crimson  glowing  jelly,  and  hot 
tea  and  toast ;  and  then  little  mince  pies 
heated  in  Alice's  oven,  a  great  basket  of 

177 


STORIES   TO  TELL 

red  apples  from  the  apple  cellar,  with  cider 
made  on  the  farm,  and  nuts  from  mother's 
bundle. 

When  it  was  all  over  and  cleaned  away, 
Alice  did  not  want  to  leave.  She  wanted  to 
begin  living  at  once  in  her  Noah's  Ark.  So 
mother  promised  that  they  would  all  get 
moved  out  before  New  Year's,  and  begin 
the  new  year  in  the  Ark.  Uncle  Will  said 
that  suited  him  perfectly. 

All  the  way  home,  with  the  golden  Christ- 
mas moon  shining  softly,  and  the  Christmas 
candles  twinkling  from  the  windows,  Alice 
sat  by  Uncle  Will,  her  hand  touching  his 
arm ;  and  all  the  way,  her  heart  said,  "  Bless 
him  for  his  Christmas  gift  to  us  all!  God 
bless  him  for  his  great  goodwill,  and  help 
me  make  a  happy  home  for  him  in  the  beau- 
tiful '  Noah's  Ark,'  —  my  Noah's  Ark  1 " 


THE   END 


.JS1- • 


,.,  ':■        :  '     ■  : 


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L  23r 


